


Steeplechase: Running the Gamut

by MarvelLitChick



Series: Maybe Life is Just One Big Marathon... [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Betrayal, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Engagement, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fear, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Injury Recovery, Loyalty, Major Character Injury, Past Brainwashing, References to Depression, Romance, Snarky Tony, Suspense, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, badass Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-24 20:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 111,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6165437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelLitChick/pseuds/MarvelLitChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy foolishly thought the new year would bring an end to their troubles-at least temporarily. Turns out, reprieves don't actually last that long in real life. When HYDRA drags Bucky back into their clutches, who can she expect to find when she gets him back-her fiancé, or The Winter Soldier? And when old enemies resurface, what is the team left to do but scramble and try to put the treacherous pieces of the puzzle together? And can they, when one of their own calls everything they've come to know into question?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take Your Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! I'm back! Thank you all so much for the overwhelmingly positive response to my last story, Date Night Dash! It was so wonderful hearing from you all! Anyhoo, here's the sequel, so Part 3 of my series, immediate sequel to Date Night Dash, Steeplechase. As the full title suggests, we're really running the gamut of emotions with this one, so mentally prepare yourselves for more of my long-winded angsty introspection. This takes place about a month after Date Night Dash, and we're pretty much going to dive right in here, so...here we go, hope you like! Let me know! 
> 
> Oh! Also, special shout out to Liebekatze and whitesilence for a little of their military knowledge. I did a little digging and used what they initially suggested to flesh out a point about veteran's affairs in this first chapter. You guys are awesome! Also uconnhuskiesfan2001, I love that we're pseudo-stalking each other now! (lol) Hope you like this, girl!

It was colder in here than Bucky remembered. And darker. And he couldn’t think straight.

            A lab coat was bustling around, tinkering with wires and buttons and a machine beside him was beeping, but he wasn’t sure if it was his heart or his pulse, or neither.

            _He_ came in and stood over him.

            “Mission report.”

            Dazed, he blinked up at the fuzzy shape in front of him.

            The voice hardened. “I _said_ , ‘mission repo—Why does he always do this?”

            Another voice—the lab coat—sighed. “I’ve _explained_ why.”

“Well, explain it again. What am I paying you for?”

“Technically, you’re _not_ paying me…”

“What was that?”

A deep sigh. “This is a new science, Sir! There aren’t any established perimeters.”

“So?”

“ _So_ …he might be _gone_. Or he might be _rememberi_ —”

            “ _Stop_. I don’t want to hear it. Just wipe him.”

            The lab coat was alarmed. “Sir! That could be _extremely_ detrimental—”

            “ _I don’t want to hear it_. I’ve got a new mark for him, a girl, right under Stark’s thumb, little assistant. She’s too smart for her own good. She’s asking too many questions. Can’t have her digging around, and Stark is dangerous enough. Just do it. _Start. Over_.”

            The lab coat hesitated for only a brief moment, continuing to tinker and something else beeped irritably. Metal pieces were slipped into place.

He bit down on the hard plastic. The vice clamped down on his arms and the machine started whirring and buzzing. His heart started to pound, but over it, he could still hear them.

            “— _And make sure it sticks this time!_ —”

            He jolted awake, lunging up into open air with a jerk, tipping blindly in the dark as he caught himself. He looked wildly around for a moment, uncertain and gasping for breath, struggling to clear his head.

            Nightmare. Right.

            He raised a hand to rub at an eye.

            Home.

            Right. He was home.

            In their Tower suite. Floor Eighty-eight. 2016. Right, yeah, 2016. New Year’s—it had just been New Year’s, about a month back.

            He swallowed past his dry throat, and looked around.

            The room was fairly pitch dark, but his strengths included a certain amount of ability seeing better in lower lighted conditions.

            He reached up to run a hand through his hair, damp with sweat.

            He hadn’t had an Alexander Pierce nightmare in…God, months, now. He hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. And he’d been talking about a new mark, someone else he was supposed to kill. Who was it again? He sighed. It was gone, drifted away, the tail of the dream dissipated like a wisp of smoke.

            “Jamie?”

            He jumped.

            Darcy was half awake, looking blearily up at him. “You okay?” Her voice was thick and groggy with sleep, and he always thought she was hopelessly adorable like this, trapped, grasping for alertness.

            He took a deep breath, a little soothed, and leaned down to press his mouth to her bare, exposed shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Go back to sleep, doll.”

            But she was nothing if not stubborn. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes and grappling with her glasses on the bedside table. “Zola again?” she questioned, blinking.

            He sighed and slid his legs over the side of the bed. “No.” He stood and crossed the room to one of the window slats, unwinding it until it slid open, letting in a slight breeze, cool on his flushed and damp skin.

            She frowned, wrapping the bed sheet around her naked torso. “Usually you’re head’s pretty quiet after…well, y’know.”

            He liked to think she was blushing in the dark. Usually, after an evening of good sex, his head _was_ pretty quiet. She was convinced the endorphins and serotonin excess were responsible, doping the bitter thoughts until they faded.

            Not that he’d gone and asked Bruce his thoughts on it—though, of anyone in the Tower, he was probably the one to ask. Since his girlfriend, Betty, had come back into his life, Bucky wondered how much the two of them were mirrors of each other.

            He sighed again and rejoined her in the bed. “Well. The yoga’s not helping so far. Or the meditation.” He’d have to tinker with his timing again, see if doing it later in the evening was better.

            She slid against him, setting her head in the hollow of his shoulder and sliding a leg up, over his hip. “What was it this time?”

            He raised his good arm around her and soothed a line down her spine with a fingertip. “Pierce.”

            She went still. “Alexander Pierce?”

            “Mm.” He ran the fingertip back up again, focusing on the smooth softness of her skin. _Headspace_ , Bruce had called it. Yet another coping mechanism. Being present, no matter what he was doing. _Mindfulness_ , being consciously aware of every little thing and not thinking beyond it.

            “You never mention him.” Her voice was hesitant, like she knew she was venturing into uncharted waters. “Like, _ever_.”

            “Mm.” He let his eyes slide shut, feeling his breathing slow and running his hand back up her spine.

            “Which tells me you reserve most of the residual fear for him.”

            He snorted. “What are you—my new shrink?”

            She ducked her head a little in a show of submission, which was so not-Darcy that he was alarmed for a second.

            He laughed. “I’m pulling your leg, Darce.”

            “Oh.”

            He swallowed. “But…yeah. You’re probably right.”

            She started drawing nonsense lines on the skin of his chest with a fingertip. “You wanna talk about it?”

            He shrugged. “Nothing new, really. Had me on the machine. Arguing with the scientists. I woke up as I was biting down on the mouth guard this time, though, so that was better.” He tried to ignore his own flippant tone. Usually he woke up _after_ …

            She stiffened again. “It…was a replay of… _that_ footage?”

            “Mm, another version of it, I guess, yeah.” He tightened his arm around her, trying to tromp down on the sudden urge to turn her onto her back again and lose himself in her. He still had to ask Bruce about…whether or not he was like Steve or completely unable. He figured it was probably a toss-up. They couldn’t keep doing this and assuming the protection would continue to hold; and a baby was _literally_ the _very_ _last_ thing he needed. “Why?”

            She raised her head to look at him, shifting so she could rest her chin on his chest. “I hate that footage the most.”

            He frowned, confused. “Why?”

            Her eyes fell a little. “Just…the look on your face. And your…screaming. I’ve watched it a few times. I don’t know why. But I can’t get through it without crying, and _Darcy Lewis does not cry_. With the exception of that _Game of Thrones_ episode last week, because that was _brutal_. I can’t…I can’t watch… _that_ footage.”

            His heart squeezing, he reached both arms around her and shifted, gathering her against him, their legs tangling. “I’m _fine_ , Darce. I’m _better_.”

            “I wanna reach into your head and pluck out the nasty shit. And that would be _first_. Every time I see him slap you I wanna shoot him in the _fucking_ face.”

            “Sshhh…” he soothed, running his metal hand up and down her back. He kissed her, softly. “It’s over. I’m alright.”

            She rolled her eyes. “This soothing part’s my job.”

            He smirked at her in the dark, her eyes just little pricks in the light coming in from outside, all the noise from the street, far below, and the skyscraper signs around them. “Oh, yeah?”

            “Yeah.”

            He sighed, parting from her.

            “Where you going?”

            He looked at her. “Darcy…”

            She sat up, hooking a leg over his hip and straddling him, letting out a soft moan as she felt his arousal against her. “I got my shot last month. We’re good.” She leaned over to kiss him, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, running teasingly over her bottom lip.

“You are… _insatiable_.”

She laughed, low. “Mm-hmm…” Her hand slid between them, and she smiled against his mouth. “Whatever they gave you to make you like Steve, I’m glad this is a side-effect. That was _fast_ , soldier. I’ll have to ask Nat about it…”

            “Shut up. Don’t wanna talk about Steve…”

            She laughed, reaching down again.

            His breath hitched as she slid herself down around him, and she leaned forward to brace herself on the bed beside his head, her hair a curtain over one shoulder. She canted her hips, working the angle until he was stroking right where she needed him, and her eyes shut for a moment as she adjusted.

            He clenched his jaw as he grasped her hips in his hands, focusing on being gentle with his left, but it was difficult as she started moving in earnest.

            His hands slid up to her waist, and around, tugging her torso closer to him so he could kiss her, and she leaned. He closed his mouth around her throat and she moaned again as he sucked at a sensitive spot near her shoulder. He’d learned well that teasing at her breasts didn’t do much of anything for her, but her throat was sensitive, especially around her pulse. If he could reach, the tiny spot just behind her ear did it too, and the small of her back.

            He drew lines there, very softly, and her rhythm hitched, and she bit her lip. “Buck.”

            “Mm?”

            She didn’t answer, but leaned over further, altering the angle so she could kiss him, bite down on his lower lip.

            He jerked, smirking, and he tugged again on her waist, sharpening the angle she wanted again. Two could play that game.

            She came with a soft cry, pausing to look dazedly down at him as the orgasm shuddered through her body. “I _hate_ you,” she rasped. It was weak reprimand and he reveled in the hoarseness of her voice as she rolled her hips against him, squeezing her thighs and tightening her grip around his waist.

            Taking advantage of the distraction, he turned them over so she was beneath him. “No, you don’t,” he murmured, gathering her close to him.

            She was still struggling to breathe, but her grip immediately loosened as she adjusted to the position, the shallow way he was seated in her. “Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

            He pulled back for a gentle thrust, the angle soft with them all gathered together, and smirked again as she gasped another mewling moan in his ear.

            “Or maybe I don’t,” she sighed, uncurling one of her legs from around him and reaching around his neck to run her hands down his back.

            He smiled.

            “Your eyes crinkle when you grin,” she said, her voice soft and low.

            “Mm?”

            “Yeah,” She sounded sleepy with pleasure. “It’s, like, my favorite thing about your face.”

            He kissed her silent, his arms around her shoulders and her face exquisitely focused and pinched, something else adorable.

            She paused, laughing, to slide off her glasses and toss them down on the bedside table before pulling his face down for a searing kiss that was so open and hot that he laughed into her mouth as he shook apart, much earlier than he usually did, and certainly earlier than he _intended_.

            She laughed, canting her hips and enjoying the sensation. “I win,” she declared a moment later, looking up at him a little smugly.

            “I fold,” he replied, sighing as he eased away and back down to the bed.

            She curled into his side again. “Better?”

            “Mm.” He tilted his head to fulfill her request for another kiss.

            For a long while, they lay there, listening to the distant strains of traffic horns and shouting far, far below, the sound of the breeze. It was February now, still too cold to let in any breeze for long. He rose to shut the slat and came back, and she watched, her eyes glued to the gorgeous lines of his toned body, hard and worked, gleaming with a gorgeous sheen of sweat in the moonlight pouring in. “Keep your eyes in your head, Lewis.”

            She laughed, poking his side as he laid back down. “Hey, I could be fantasizing about Thor.”

            He snorted.

            She settled her head back down again, pressing her face against his side, and she sighed.

            “Love you,” he murmured.

            For a long moment, she was silent, and he’d started drifting off again when she finally spoke. “When do you leave tomorrow?”

            He blinked, sighing, and slid an arm around her. “Wheels up at one. Why?”

            She snuggled closer. “Because I worry about you every time you go. I barely sleep.”

            He laughed gently. “Darcy, baby, I’m probably the surest bet to come home without a scratch, outta the whole bunch. Sam’s just working with his pack, Steve doesn’t have a _cybernetic_ arm.”

            “He has his shield.”

            He shrugged. “Yeah. And I had his back when he had that shield back in the War. He’s no sniper.”

            “Just…don’t get too confident. I’m a firm believer in the jinx.”

            “Besides, you got the girls while we’re gone. You’re all…in the same boat, I guess. Nat. Maria. Jane’s a nervous wreck every time Thor goes back for the shortest visit to Asgard.”

            She nodded, looking down at her fidgeting hand on his chest. “I know.”

            “And you got this to keep you company.” He grabbed up her left hand and held it out.

            The silver ring shone in the dim light and the three carat setting was so huge, Darcy still felt like it should _weigh her down_. She’d argued when she’d seen it, nestled there, in that gorgeous Tiffany’s box, feeling embarrassed at just the _thought_ of wearing it and drawing attention from the girls. But he’d _insisted_ that _he_ was weighed down himself by veteran’s back pay, let alone his salary from Tony.

            She glanced over, into the other room, toward the couch. They’d been all snuggled up, watching _Sherlock_ , and he’d asked her if she still felt like hanging around, like she’d said on New Year’s. And he’d sighed and said he couldn’t keep ignoring the weight in his pocket and slid out of their cocoon and to the floor on _both_ knees.

“Just in case I gotta bribe ya,” he’d quipped as he’d opened the box, but she saw the nervousness in his eyes as she’d stared at him, her mouth open and her eyes wide. His gaze was raw in a way she hadn’t seen much of since the first few days he’d been with them, down in the lab, half a man at best, plagued by the demons he’d struggled to shake off. Vulnerable.

“ _What_ …?” she’d asked, surprised that he’d jumped at this so fast, again, so much faster and calmer than she’d ever expected anything from him.

            But his words were so soft, nothing trite and nothing cheesy, no speech and no flowery declarations or confessions. “Will you?”

            She’d sighed. “Get back up here so I can _kiss_ you!” had been her only reply.

            “Yeah…I know…” she said now.

            “What is it?” he pressed gently.

            She shrugged. “I love the ring. But…I’d rather have _you_ than the ring. I don’t want anything to happen to you when you’re out there.” She rolled her eyes. “God damn it, Barnes, you’ve reduced smart-ass Darcy to a blithering _girl_.”

            He laughed, but his eyes were soft. “I’m careful. We _all_ are, we _always_ are. This is just a grab for intel. Ship off the coast of Romania is harboring HYDRA files. We’re going in, getting it, then getting back out again. It’s gonna be a palms up run, twenty minutes in and out. We’ve done this a half dozen times in the past month, babe. The ride on the quinjet there and back is gonna be longer, and _believe_ me—with those two punks, that’s the hardest part of the mission.”

            She smiled. “I know. Don’t kill each other.”

            He snorted. “No guarantees.”

            She cuddled closer. “Just… _be careful_.”

 

           

“You got everything?”

            “Yep.”

            “And Tony checked out your arm?”

            “Always does.”

            “And the jet’s all fueled?”

            “Doll. We’re not going to war. Trust me. This ain’t what war looks like.”

            “Just espionage,” Sam quipped as he crossed by them with his bag, Maria waving from behind them. “Wheels up.”

            “Yep.”

            “You’ve got—”

            “ _Darcy_.” He grabbed her shoulders. “I’m back day after tomorrow. Go watch a few movies and I’ll be back before you think twice.”

            “I just worry—”

            “I _know_. But I gotta go.”

            She sighed. “Kiss.”

            He complied, pulling her close and laying a good one on her. “Love you. _Don’t_ lose that thing down the drain.” He fingered the ring on her hand.

            “Very funny.”

            He began away, toward the jet.

“Love you!” she called.

            He waved over his shoulder and didn’t look back. She hated that. He did it every time. The worst part was knowing he did it so he’d be able to make himself go.

            “They’ll be fine,” Nat said at her shoulder.

            “I know,” she sighed.

            “You’re not alone. We can be miserable together.”

            Maria came over and completed their group. “Sounds about right. Mojitos?”

            “Those are for _parties_ ,” Darcy said, shaking her head as the engines fired up and the pit closed, the landing board shutting with a tremendous boom. “I want something _harder_.”

            “Vodka?” Natasha offered.

            They both nodded. “Yeah. _Sounds about right_ ,” Maria agreed.

 

 

            “So…were you planning on telling us about this… _boulder_ on your hand, or…?” Natasha began, eyeing her, hard, an eyebrow cocked down at Darcy’s left hand. She set the vodka bottle on the counter.

            “Were you just waiting for us to kidnap you and torture you first?” Maria added, smirking mischievously as she pulled three shot glasses out of her tiny cabinet.

            Darcy bit her lip, looking between the two of them with uncertain eyes.

            A knock sounded at the door, and Maria went to open it.

            “My saving grace,” Darcy muttered.

            Natasha snickered.

            “No, it’s really not,” Wanda contradicted as she swept in and shut the door behind her.

            Darcy scowled. “Stop doing that creepy thing where you’re, like, _omniscient_. I’m not the only one who hates it.”

            “You _are_ , however, at a disadvantage,” Natasha pointed out, topping off a fourth shot glass in Maria’s offered hand.

            Darcy sighed. “Nope. Not going there.”

            Maria studied Natasha. “There’s _gotta_ be a way.”

            “Since when do you clam up like this? You told us all about little Ian,” Wanda pointed out, throwing her shot back and wincing as she forced it down her throat. It was only a matter of time now, until her accent thickened further.

            Darcy threw her own back like a college pro and upended the glass on the counter. “Since six months ago.”

            Maria rolled her eyes. “The thing’s _huge_. He is aware of that, yes?”

            She shrugged. “Backpay. He’s, like, the _oldest_ POW on record.”

            “But still…” Wanda muttered, shaking her head as she stared at it.

            Natasha cut her off. “Technically, with his rank reinstated, he’d be a Command Sergeant Major by now…According to the government, he is.”

            Wanda’s mouth dropped open and she stared at her.

            “It’s easier when you enlist rather than let yourself get drafted.” She smirked. “And Tony’s got great lawyers. Steve talked to the man in the Oval Office, papers were pushed, PR stepped in, and…” She shrugged, giving Darcy a sly look and a wink. “Where’s he at, anyway, Darce?”

            Darcy, trying not to blush at being caught doing the math—they’d been talking about pooling their accounts before the wedding—bit her lip and winced. “Seven figures. Plus Tony’s salary.”

            Wanda _squawked_ — _actually_ squawked.

            “And that’s nothing compared to Steve, probably…

            But Natasha had gone back to studying her jewelry. “Princess cut,” she said, sparing another long glance at it. “Three stone, prong setting.”

            Maria leaned over. “Two carats?”

            “No,” Natasha corrected, shaking her head. “Three.”

            “Fine silver,” Wanda added. “What are we talking, girls?”

Again, Natasha shrugged. “Well. Contrary to popular misconception, value isn’t based on size, but _quality_ , and that has Tiffany’s written all over it. And they don’t set any _mycop_ , so I’m going to take an educated guess somewhere in the realm of five figures.” She raised a brow for confirmation. “Darce?”

She shrugged, annoyed and embarrassed all in one. “No idea. Can’t find the paperwork, and the guy’s locked up like a damn safe.”

Natasha snickered. “Got the same outta Steve.”

Wanda let out a puff of impressed air. “Did he have a speech all planned out? That sounds like him.”

            Darcy pulled a face. “How on _earth_ does that sound like _him_? Sometimes getting words out of him is like _pulling teeth_.” Then she bit her lip, realizing she’d just fallen for her trick. “And the reverse psychology has just run its course.”

            Natasha looked downright devious at their shameless ploy.

            “One more shot—and I _will not_ fall for that again.”             Maria sighed, flipping her glass back over. “Yeah, hit me again. Sam passed out after the briefing last night and I didn’t even get send-off sex. I’m pissed at him.”

            Wanda snorted. “I’ll bet Natasha did.”

            Natasha cocked that brow again. “Do you hear me complaining?”

            They all downed a second shot in silence and stood there, staring at each other.

            “Seriously— _nothing_?” Maria continued. “You got _nothing_? We’re _dying_. Jane’s not here and she’s the easy mark. Bucky, like, _never_ speaks. He’s like Fort Knox. You _gotta_ give us _something_.”

            Darcy squirmed, the vodka easing her _unease_ a little, and she crossed the room to flounce down on Maria’s leather couch. “ _Guys_ …” Weakest warning tone ever.

            They all followed, throwing themselves down.

            “C’mon…” Wanda needled. “She wants to, it’s in her face.”

            She shook her head, rolling her eyes, that old urge back, like a dog over its prey, the ‘back-off’ warming the back of her throat. He was not a goddamn sideshow.

            Natasha narrowed her eyes. “She’s defensive.”

            “So, possessive,” Maria read.

            “Are you guys watching too much _Sherlock_? What the fuck?”

            Wanda giggled, then caught herself, and slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Ooh, too much vodka.”

            “You’re an awful lightweight for being part of that whole tradition.”

            But Natasha was still studying her. “He treats her well; that much is obvious.”

            She wondered if she was blushing.

            “And she’s blushing,” Maria added.

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “God, I hate women.”

            “Blushing, yeah, so the sex is good.”

            She clenched her jaw.

            Up went the eyebrow. “ _Really_ good. Hm. Interesting. Wonder if Stark’s taken a look at the contents of his blood, the signature of whatever Zola dosed him with.”

            Darcy made what she knew was a feeble attempt. “And do you wanna tell us about how that effects _Stevie_ , perhaps?”

            Natasha shrugged. “Nah.”

            “Deflection,” Maria pointed out, moving right along. “She’s had that thing for…two weeks, right?”

            “Not too long after New Year’s.”

            “That was the night Lukin tried to take him back in for HYDRA,” Wanda offered.

            “So…big night, I’m thinking,” Maria said, nodding. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

            “He’s still having the nightmares,” Natasha spoke, quietly.      

            Darcy’s jaw dropped open, tired of this game. “Okay. I’m gonna go.” She made to stand.

            Maria pushed her back into the cushion. “You’ve got circles under your eyes. You were up last night—and not all of it for _good_ reasons.” She winked suggestively.

            She glared at each of them in turn. “I’m telling on you _all_ to Steve as soon as that quinjet lands back on the pad. He’s gonna be _pissed_.”

            Natasha smirked. “Probably. He’s fun when he’s pissed.”

            Maria chuckled. “ _Is_ he?”

            “Bucky’s not,” Wanda added, studying her further. “Although most of what ails him effects Darcy more than it effects him.”

            That one she decided to take a passing glance at. “Okay, _fine_. You want something? I wanna bring Alexander Pierce back from the dead so I can shoot him in the _fucking_ face _myself_. _Happy_?” she snapped, her patience dissolving, the alcohol drawing it all to a sudden, fine point.

            It went silent.

            The girls stared at her, looking slightly more sober.

            Wanda swallowed.

            “Fury gave him two rounds to the heart,” Natasha offered, looking—shockingly—vaguely guilty.

            Darcy leaned forward. “ _Not_. _Good_ _enough_. _Nothing_ short of getting him between the eyes with a _sawed_ - _off_ would be good enough.”

            Maria cleared her throat. “I haven’t seen that footage.”

            Darcy sat back, suddenly feeling those few sleepless hours the night before. “ _Good_. _Don’t_. I can’t get it out of my head, anymore than I can get it out of _his_.” Her voice had softened now, and she realized they’d gotten her angry enough to talk.

            “So…he remembers that?” Natasha asked; of course, she would’ve gone back later and watched every scrap of intel she herself had dumped.

            She sighed. What was the use? “He remembers most of… _that_. I think he’s…remembered everyone he…now, anyway. It’s the stuff before that he has trouble with.”

            “Before the War?”

            She nodded, looking away, at the gray, rainy sky out the window. “Bits and pieces. Fuzzy scraps. Snatches of conversation. Steve’s mother’s funeral. Zola’s lab. Getting out.”

            “The train?” Maria asked.

            She shrugged. “I dunno. He doesn’t…say it all.”

            “But he talks to you?” Wanda, looking concerned from her armchair.

            She bit her lip. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Guys, I _can’t_ …can we not… _do_ this? He’s not…a circus sideshow. I know that’s not what you mean, but he’s...”

            “Too important to betray,” Wanda finished, effectively shutting it down.

            Maria sighed. “We just…wanted to make sure this wasn’t, like…a fling gone mad, what with that _ridiculously_ huge _rock_ on your finger.”

            Natasha nodded. “I hate you, that thing’s perfect.”

            Wanda agreed. “And she wouldn’t have said yes if he’d made a flowery speech. Probably a handful of words left his mouth.”

            Darcy sighed. “He talks more about _Game of Thrones_.”

            Natasha eyed her hard. “You two _asses_ are going to finish that before Steve and I! You’re making a game out of it, aren’t you? I _told_ Steve you were sneaking around! He didn’t believe me!”

            Darcy eyed her. “You’re two seasons back. You’ll never catch us now! _Hah_!”

            Natasha gestured. “Wait—we’re on the one with where the little prick gets slapped by the Lannister guy—Tyrion! What season is that?”

            “Two.”

            Her face fell. “And you’re already to season _four_?!”

            Darcy laughed. “You know, for a spy, you can’t even keep character names straight.”

            She rolled her eyes as she slumped in the chair. “Hey. There are a lot of people in that show. _Goddamn_ it, I _told_ Steve!” She muttered something in Russian.

            Darcy snickered. “Just wait. You’re gonna _love_ what happens at the beginning of the season…”

            Natasha shook her head in betrayal, glaring out the window. “Ugh.”

            “I have the fifth season all queued up on Netflix. We’re just about there.”

            “You _bitch_.”

            “It’s just…it happened really fast,” Maria pointed out, eyeing her ring again.

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “You wanna ask the Spider over there about _fast_?”

            But Maria wasn’t budging until she was satisfied. “I guess it’s just…he’s… _okay_ enough…for…all this?”

            Darcy sighed, looking back out the window for something to do. “He says…I’m the only thing that makes any sense.”

            She could practically feel Wanda melting at her side.

            “Does that fold your argument?” she asked, eyeing up Maria.

            She nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.

            “I’m really exhausted, okay, guys. Can we just put on something to distract us—a movie? I worry about him _constantly_ when they’re out there. I mean, we still don’t know if any of his conditioning is still…interwoven in his brain. It just… _freaks_ me out.”

            “You said he was fine after New Year’s?” Wanda pointed out.

            “Yeah, Steve said he was fine when they talked on the phone—actually, he seemed a lot more at ease later that night,” Natasha added, and Darcy didn’t miss her own very subtle blush.

            “He _was_ …but…Lukin tried knocking him out with a sleeper phrase and at first it didn’t work, and I thought we were _golden_. But then…”

            Maria leaned forward, ever the team head on intel, ready to soak up the info. “What?”

            She looked to Natasha. “You know how they are, him and Steve. They don’t get tired as easy, and they’re stamina is _ridiculous_. His pain threshold is _insane_ , but…Lukin repeated the phrase, and it had him _on his knees_ , the pain in his head was so bad. He said it was _blinding_.”

            Natasha was scowling, like she was itching to call Steve and tell him right there.

            Darcy swallowed. “It freaked me out. I mean, he’s so…strong. But…just a handful of Russian and…”

            “Do you think it would’ve worked?” Natasha asked.

            Darcy sighed. “I don’t know. He shook it off, but…seriously, I haven’t been able to get it outta my head. He insists they’re always careful when they’re out, but all it takes is one guy to recognize him or something, and—I don’t wanna think about him just disappearing. Not only would it be awful if they were able to reestablish their hold over him, but…”

            Maria leaned forward again. “But?”

            She chewed on her lip. “He has enough trouble with this as it is. I don’t wanna think about what might happen if he wakes up after being forced into it a second time. I don’t think the guilt would release him a second time. I don’t think he’d be able to…”

            She felt guilty for doing this; talking about him. But she could hear him in her head, their discussion not a week previous.

            _The girls still asking about us?_

 _They won’t let it go. It really is like an episode of_ Sex and the City _—you were right._

_Babe, if it makes you feel better…_

_Why would it make me feel better? What goes on in your head is none of their business._

_Just, you know, don’t tell ‘em what we do in bed._

            She sighed. “I just…I wish I knew what to do for him. Most of the time, now, he’s fine. You know? He’s getting better, he’s just a regular guy. But…”

            “He gets that look in his eyes,” Natasha offered, her eyes somber. “Right?”

            Darcy snorted bitterly. “Loki said it best.”

            Wanda frowned, confused. “What?”

            “Called him—”

            “A ‘man out of time’,” they said, nearly in unison.

            Maria nodded.

            “Jerked awake last night, woke me up. He’s used to most of the nightmares now, they don’t bother him too much. He gets a glass of water, goes back to sleep, but this one…”

            “Pierce?”

            She nodded at Natasha. “He _never_ mentions Pierce. He’s told me just about _everything_ else, but he _never_ mentions Pierce. I can… _feel_ the fear, rising off his skin, I think most of it is wrapped up in that _bastard_. And he’s _already dead_. Makes me feel useless. And I can tell he hates it. I think most of the wiping and conditioning went on under his watch. And a lot of it is fuzzy now, it’s just…vague feelings and images and the sound of that _machine_ —”

            “Machine?”

            It was Natasha who spoke again. “They used electroshock to wipe his mind, if he started to remember anything. Steve told me…” She visibly hesitated. “Like he broke his conditioning on that helicarrier, when they nearly killed each other. If Bucky would start to remember things, they’d…well, they’d shock him and start over. Wipe him. Or they’d put him back in cryo.”

            Wanda’s lip curled in disdain. “ _Bastards_.”

            “He told me he was alright. But now they’re gone and I can’t keep an eye on him, and I feel _stupid_ for even _wanting_ to—he’s a grown man, he’s with Steve, he doesn’t need a babysitter, and he’d resent the implication that he does—”

            “But you’re his touchstone.”

            They all turned to look at Wanda. She blinked. “What?”

            “I’m his _what_?”

            She shrugged. “His touchstone. The thing that keeps him grounded. He’s leaned on you. We all have one. Sometimes this is an idea or a dream, a distant concept or a small token. Sometimes it is a person, someone you cannot live without. He has chosen you. He does not wish to live without you. It is simple, really. You are his North Star, his Polaris.”

            Darcy blinked.

            Wanda shrugged, a smile pulling at her mouth. “It is romantic, really.”

            Darcy sighed, turning to throw herself across the couch, sprawling. “ _God_ …”

            “So, he’s _not_ okay?” Maria clarified.

            “I dunno, Maria! Go talk to his shrink! Do you think a _brainwashing_ victim is _capable_ of being _okay_ again? What do _you_ think? Gee, I dunno—maybe he’s gonna snap next week and gun us all down in our sleep!”

            Natasha crossed to sit next to her, shoving at her legs until she could lie down beside her and gathered her into her arms.

            “That’s not what I meant,” Maria said quietly.

            She sighed again. “I know.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “I _know_.”

            Natasha buried her face in Darcy’s neck, combing her hair back. Darcy was a little surprised at this; she’d been growing closer to the girls for a while, more in the last month since she’d moved into the Tower. But she’d never known Natasha to be physically affectionate with anyone other than Steve—or maybe Clint. She’d certainly never had a relationship with a girlfriend in the past that was close enough to involve cuddling like this.     

            But it made her feel better, a little less frayed.

            “I just was making sure he was really okay. _Emotionally_ , not mentally. Tony might be flippant about it, but he’s right—if he was gonna snap, he’d have done it by now.”

            Darcy let her eyes slide shut. “He’s fine. He’s _strong_. He’s just…he’s so tired. He’s _exhausted_. He’s like Steve. Guilt pulls him _so_ hard. And he barely sleeps.”

            “Sounds to me, that somewhere in all this, the sex is _ridiculous_. Brooding men are always _terrific_ in bed,” Wanda declared from the couch.

            They all twisted to look at her.

            She shrugged impishly, eyes wide. “What—you thought I only clung to Pietro all my life?!”

            They all burst out laughing.

 

 

            The next two days passed— _mercifully_ —without incident and with nearly sufficient distraction. Natasha checked in with her more than once, and while Darcy worried that it was out of pity, she was relieved to see the spy showing signs of her own distress. When she ducked her head into the lab the following afternoon to tell her she’d pinged Steve’s tracker over the Atlantic, Darcy nodded gratefully, sure that she was reading nerves in the stone-solid former assassin’s tired eyes.

            She spent her time entering Jane’s new data, nibbling on her lip as the numbers went to work, working out the readings into some form of graph that the tiny scientist was able to extrapolate into something that seemed to resemble results.

            Thor largely kept himself entertained playing _Plants vs. Zombies_ on Jane’s tablet when he wasn’t being briefed, cursing the undead miscreants under his breath in what Darcy was sure were half a dozen different languages, none of them actually from earth. One of them sounded so guttural and violent that she asked if it was _Klingon_ , and received the typical quizzical frown from the big, sweet brute as the reference sailed right over his head.

            Tony dropped in to leave her a few files he needed sorting through on his Ultron project, but left her to her duties with Jane and went into a meeting with Maria.

            The following morning was all his, though, and she sat in one corner of his shop, listening to him muttering under his breath as she typed up a report for him, and he called out orders to JARVIS, the two of them keeping an odd, yet highly entertaining soundtrack of sarcastic jibes and passive aggressive suggestions. He was working on another drone for his Legion, but it kept restarting, over and over, until finally something sparked violently, short-circuited, and Tony stormed out, throwing down his rag and telling her they were done for the day and that she was free to go brood in her quarters. She smiled apologetically, got him a double espresso, left it quietly on the end of his desk, and left. He seemed to appreciate the sentiment, and she tried not to laugh out loud when he threatened to bust DUM-E’s motherboard for parts.

            She went back to her empty suite and sat on the couch, watching reruns of _Mork & Mindy_ and finishing the last of her Chinese takeout from the night before, trying not to notice how huge the space was, and how quiet it had gotten.

She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that _Bucky_ was the cook of the two of them. She’d come home two weeks prior to find him rooting quietly through the cabinets, muttering to himself as he pulled out a huge pot. Setting her purse down, she’d enjoyed the rare instance of watching him when he had no idea she was there, and she’d stood for a full five minutes, watching the muscles in his strong back move as he stirred tomato sauce in a smaller pot on the back burner, humming quietly under his breath. He’d been dropping the pasta into the large pot when he finally saw her out of the corner of his eye. Of course, he denied that he jumped, but she soon quit teasing him when he’d plated the best red pasta dish she’d ever had, moving right on to the question of where in Manhattan he’d found fresh basil at four on a Friday afternoon. She could do a little cooking herself, but nothing fancy. She didn’t see the point of the effort when she was alone.

            The bed was like an ice sheet. It got harder and harder every time he was out on an op, and she wondered if she’d ever get used to it. The realization that she’d soon become what amounted to a military wife made her laugh hysterically for a few moments before it lost its bitter appeal. Furthermore, she knew he’d vociferously deny that he was a member of the military anymore, even though she’d been with SHIELD long enough to know the difference. He was a bit touchy about the War; not in any aggressive way. But she could always tell when even one further question could tip his mood into sadness. It was a balancing act that she was getting good at playing. It stung, though, that he was ever in pain. She was slowly acclimating herself to that too; dealing with his pain. She felt useless most of the time, even while he insisted that sitting on the couch and making him watch some TV show was her doing exactly what he needed her to do.

            So, shivering and stuffing her headphones in her ears, she finally fell asleep, late, twisting her ring nervously on her finger and wondering if Natasha was doing the same. She debated going to find her for a moment, knowing she spent these ops in their old quarters, but was determined to do it on her own. And besides, she thought maybe Natasha wouldn’t appreciate an interruption in her own musings.

            She was determined, as she dropped off, to find a better distraction the next day.

 

 

            Yawning, Bucky flashed his keycard in front of the gage on their door and it popped open for him. He pushed it open all the way and went in. “ _Welcome back, Sir_ ,” JARVIS greeted him. He nodded; he was never sure just what to do with the ever-watchful butler program. He was still trying to decide if it comforted him or made him uneasy, the knowledge that he was being watched at all times to some varying degree.

            “Darce?” he called out as he dropped his bag on the hardwood by the door, music greeting him, but no fiancé.

            Fiancé. God. He was still a little dumbfounded, let alone apprehensive. Was there a timetable now? Was he expected to do… _something_? This was another obnoxiously fuzzy area in his brain, and he cursed it silently as he moved into their shared space, the soft hisses and wisps of a playing LP drifting through the apartment, soft piano.

            _“Once there was a way//to get back homeward. Once there was a way//to get back home…”_

            He swallowed, frowning at the lyrics as he came further in. “Darcy?”

            _“Sleep, pretty darlin’//do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby.”_

            He sighed. She wouldn’t have left the record player on if she’d stepped out. Maybe she’d darted out quick to help Tony with something?

            The strings on the song started up again, repeating, and the same lyrics met him, a rasping voice, deep and vaguely mournful.

            _“Once there was a way//to get back homeward. Once there was a way//to get back home…”_

            A knot formed in his stomach, and he swallowed, hard. _No kidding._

            Then the song changed, the tempo pulling up tight, the signature picking up speed, and the strings disappeared.

            _“Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight//carry that weight a long time.”_

            The knot in his stomach tightened painfully, and he scowled, crossing the room quickly to pluck the needle off the LP, watching numbly as it slowly spun to a stop and sat there expectantly.

            Silence. He cocked his head, frowning, but his strengthened hearing picked up nothing—but, wait—

            “ _JARVIS_? Is there something wrong with the record player?”

            Darcy came slip-sliding down the hall from their bedroom, frowning curiously and muttering to herself. She was wearing a pair of his boxers, an old t-shirt that said _Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge_ on it, a button down of his over it, and a pair of bright pink knee-high socks. “Can you even scan tech that isn’t controlled by you or…? I should probably know how Tony’s tech works, shouldn’t I?” She looked up and froze as she spotted him.

            He squinted, pointing at the deck. “Beatles?” he guessed.

            The only answer he got was a happy squeal as she threw herself at him.

            “ _Whoa_!” He caught himself back on his heels, smiling bemusedly and wrapping his arms around her. “Okay. I’m gonna assume I got it right.”

            “Oh, _God_ ,” she groaned unexpectedly. “Sorry. Probably not the best way to introduce you to musical genius. The lyrics to that aren’t very…” She shook her head. “ _Golden Slumbers_ and _Carry that Weight_. I’m _sorry_.”

            He just laughed.

            She pulled back out of his embrace. “Are you okay?” She grabbed him again and started checking him over. “You’re _alright_?”

            He chuckled. “I’m _fine_. I lied though.”

            Her face went slack. “What?”

            He smirked. “It only took us _ten_ minutes, not twenty.” He held out his arms. “Not a scratch.” He raised a brow. “You can check later, if you want.”

            She frowned at him, reaching out to swat him. “ _Jerkface_!”

            He laughed, reaching for her and pulling her close. “I’m just teasing. How were the past two days? I miss anything good? Tony didn’t blow the building over, I see.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Nearly.”

            “Oh?”

            “He and Drone 13 are engaged in a battle of wits—and Tony’s losing.”

            He whistled low. “Foiled again.”

            “Yeah. Was pretty brutal yesterday. Tony called an early retreat and I was stuck here in the silence.”

            “See? I _told_ you—this place is too big for one person.”

            She settled her head on his chest. “I sound like a total _girl_ —I missed you.”

            His hand settled warmly in the space between her shoulder blades and pressed tenderly.

            “I was cleaning, just to keep myself busy. And I moved things around a little in the bedroom, I hope that’s okay.”

            “My space is your space. Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged.

            “You’re so blasé about most things, it’s a juxtaposition.”

            He grinned, parting from her to retrieve his bag. “I see you haven’t lost anything down the drain.”

            She blushed. “I used the dishwasher.”             He laughed. “Of course you did.”

            She narrowed her eyes. “And I see _you_ look exhausted. You sure you’re alright?”

            He shrugged again. “I can’t sleep on that quinjet—I can _pilot_ it, but I can’t _sleep_ on it. It’s a lost cause. JARVIS takes over, the two of them strap in and all I do is sit there, listening to Steve move around and Sam snore. It’s _awful_.”

            She smirked. “Maybe you’ll actually sleep through the night, then, tonight. Something else that’s similar between you and _Project: Rebirth_. Regardless of the dreams, you _barely_ sleep. You’re up with the sun. Are you _sure_ you haven’t got the same serum?”

            He shrugged. “Hell if I know, doll.” Tossing his bag down on the couch, he nodded at her shirt. “Like the t-shirt. Should wear that on our next HYDRA raid.”

            She grinned, looking down at the black material and splashed red writing. “No, no, we haven’t gotten to this band yet. _My Chemical Romance_ is _way_ too recent. We have to take your music history chronologically, or it won’t make any sense. Trust me.”

            He rolled his eyes, smirking. “And what’s with the socks? You’re a fashion plate today.”

            She bopped playfully, showing off the look. “I said, I’ve been cleaning. Just threw this on. I don’t have to look office-ready at all times, do I?”

            He shrugged, but there was a playful gleam in his azure eyes. “You can walk around naked for all I care, doll.”

            Then it was her turn to roll her eyes. “Oh, and you’d care _so_ _much_.” She pointed her toe. “You like the naughty schoolgirl look? Considering you’re from the 30s and 40s, I’m sure there’s a joke in there somewh—”

            He cut her off as he crossed to her and hauled her over his shoulder, drawing a shriek from her, then another as he held her in place with a big hand on her ass.

            “You _caveman_!” She wriggled, giggling. “Put me _down_.”

            He laughed as he retrieved his bag and went down the hall. “Nah. You’re fun when you squeal like that.”

            She stopped struggling, instead poking him on the back and tugging at a strand of hair. “Gotta trim that hair. It’s nearly to your shoulders.”

            “Bother you? I can cut it back to 1943, if you want.”

            She laughed. “ _God_ , no. I like my men with _wild_ hair.” She pretended to wriggle again, and was rewarded for her efforts when he flipped her onto her back on the bed. She fell back and sprawled out.

            He tossed his bag down beside her and set to unpacking, tossing some folded clothes on the bed, the rest in a small pile on the floor.

            “You got the intel, though?”

            He nodded. “Yep. Steve will probably pour over it tonight.”

            “Poor Natasha. There’s a chance I’ve gotten to know her too well. I could see right through her this time, and she’s a bit of a raw nerve herself.”

            He smiled, leaning over to kiss her when she wriggled over and sat up in his face. “I’m sure she’ll find a way to get what she wants outta him. Stevie’s a sucker like that.”

            She raised a brow, grabbing him and hauling him down on top of her while he was distracted. “Oh? And you’re _not_?” She curled a leg around his thigh and laughed as he tried to leverage himself back up.

            He sighed. “…Maybe a little.”

            She giggled, throwing her head back. “Yeah, you sure?”

            His mouth teased at her throat. “Notice I’m not struggling.”

            “I _did_ notice.”

            She clung on as he stood, shrieking when he made to fumble her. “I need a shower. I suppose you’ll insist on joining me?”

            “How else can I be sure you’re totally clean?”

            He laughed and kicked the door shut behind them.

            She was right, of course—he slept clean through the night, without interruption. She was up before him, actually, which was so rare that she laid there, watching him, the soft angle of his head, tilted away from her, the dusky shadow on his jaw where he’d shaven just the afternoon before, fresh out of the shower. She bit her lip, reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, and he shifted, turning over to face her with a sleepy sigh.

            The sun cut a gorgeous angle into the room and lit off the side of his jaw. She stared.

            He slowly came awake, shifting and sighing, his arm snaking across to find her, and he pulled her in close, eyeing her through a cracked slit, cerulean blue in the dawn light. “Morning,” he rasped.

            She smiled, snuggling against him. “Mm, your sexy voice.”

            He whispered a laugh. “You bein’ creepy, Lewis?”

            “Hm, was it considered creepy to watch your partner sleeping back in 1940?”

            “It’s always been considered creepy, Lewis.”

            She giggled softly, squirming as his fingers danced down her bare back. “Guilty as charged.”

            “Mm…” He stretched, and she heard at least three joints pop and crack. “Only good thing about every op, I get to come back and sleep like the dead.”

            She turned over to glance at the clock. “That was a good, solid ten hours. Any dreams?”

            He frowned, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Two. I think.”

            She sighed. “Aww. Well, shit.” She slumped.

            “No, no. They were good.”

            Surprised, she nestled closer. “ _Oh_?”

            There was a smile lost somewhere on his face. “Haven’t had a good dream in…God, _years_. Sarah and Steve were there. I don’t remember…what was happening...” He frowned in contemplation, looking around as he concentrated. “Nope. It’s gone. We were laughing though. And Sarah, she looked…good. So it must’ve been before she got sick.”

            She bit her lip. “How’d she die?”

            He sighed. “TB. Took her quick, too. She was such a looker, Stevie’s mom. Real dame.”

            She smiled at his speech. “What about his dad?”

            “Joe died when we were kids. Don’t remember him real much. Stevie looked like him, though, I remember that. He had Sarah’s eyes.”

            She ran a hand down his front and rested her palm on a hip. “What about _your_ parents?”

            He frowned, thought for a moment, then shook his head. “They’re still elusive. Remember they were both _around_. Depression was hard. We were better off than Rogers, though. But he was always too damn proud about it. Didn’t stop me from bullying him into stuff, though.” He smiled, his eyes far away.

            She rested her chin on his shoulder. “What was the other one about?”

            “You were there.”

            She blinked, surprised. “I _was_?”

            “Mm. Don’t remember what was happening. We were outside. There was a field. I remember the yellow dandelions.”

            “Ooh, sounds _intriguing_ ,” she chuckled.

            “You were in white.” His voice was so hushed and soft, it gave her pause, and she jerked her head back, staring at him.

            “ _White_?”

            He blinked, hearing her implication. “Don’t think it was that kinda white. But I don’t remember anything else. You were laughing.” Then the spell on him seemed to break, and he blinked again, looking at her. “That’s it, the rest is gone.”

            She swallowed, her heart jumping into her throat in anticipation. Was this about to fall apart? No. No, he looked, if anything, contemplative.

            “I don’t…really remember what I’m supposed to do here, and I’m…so far outta my depth on this I’m actually in the wrong decade.” He winked.

            She rolled her eyes.

            “I’m not sure…what I’m supposed to do in 2016.”

            Having a feeling what he meant, she leaned back over. “Well, it’s pretty ambiguous, nowadays. What do you _wanna_ do?”

            His hand found her thigh. “Are we supposed to…I dunno. _Talk_ about this?”

            She smiled. “You are so fucking cute.”

            He blushed.

            “What do you _wanna_ do?”

            “Make good on my promise. But aren’t _I_ supposed to be asking _you_ that question?”

            Another shrug. “Not really like that anymore. What was it like then?”

            He surprised her when he barked out a laugh. “Well, back then, ma would’a kicked my ass straight to confession by now, I remember that much.”

            She burst out laughing, throwing her head back. “Have you been a _naughty_ boy?”

            He followed her, his laughter loose and warm; she reveled in it, it was such a precious rarity. “Yeah, think so.”

            She sighed. “Then what?”

            “I dunno, Darce. Never got that far.”

            “Just far enough to be a dog?”

            He snorted. “Guess so. I dunno. You’d be sequestered away from me somewhere with all the ladies, I’d be reprimanded, we’d be shunted in by the nearest priest and you’d be gussied up in as many white layers the ladies could get their hands on, just to make it difficult later.”

            She was still breathless with laughter. She was pretty sure she’d never laughed so much with a lover as she did with him. Which was saying something. “Lots of _fire and brimstone_?”

            He was just as breathless, a smile still dancing on his mouth. “Oh, yeah, worse with us, ‘cause I’d a had you already. Shame, shame. Gotta marry you now, case I knocked you up.”

            She swallowed. “Then you’d have gone off to war and I would’ve waited for you at home, and written you letters and—what? Worked the field as a nurse or gone to a munitions factory?”

            His eyes were contemplative, still. “One of the two, yeah. We’re on the coast, so you’d probably ship out as a nurse. Probably would’a ended up in London or Italy, or…”

            It suddenly wasn’t that funny anymore. She nuzzled him. “Wasn’t as romantic and patriotic as it’s been painted, was it?”

            He sighed a deep, deep breath. “Well…for the folks at home it was, I guess.”

            “But…”

            “The frontlines weren’t so picturesque. And HYDRA, they…” He hesitated.

            “We don’t have to talk about this,” she cut him off.

            His arm slid around her. “No, no.” His voice was light. “I mean, _I_ sure didn’t get out without my fair share of scars. You’ve missed some on my back.” He sounded vaguely playful.

            But she was still mired in the darkness. “How’d you get through that? What pulled you through?”

            Another deep breath. “A lot of that is hazy. It starts getting foggy around the whole bit with Zola’s lab…and the train.”

            She squeezed him tighter.  

            “I remember I kept thinking that if I had one more day in me, that’d be one more day they couldn’t claim. I remember that. Then Steve showed up, and the way he looked, I thought I was already dead.”

            “Sounds _awful_.”

            “Don’t remember it to well.”

            “You don’t remember the pain?”

            He shook his head.

            “Good.” She pressed a kiss to his chest.

            He gave her a sad smile. “Every life has pain, Darce.”

            A question suddenly popped up, one that she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she knew she probably didn’t want to know. “Do…do you remember…?”

            “Howard and Maria?”

            She sat up, staring at him. “How—?”

            A wry smile on his face. “Been waiting for you to ask.”

            Swallowing, she stared at him, watching the emotions play on his face.

            “Yes.” His voice was disturbingly clear and concise. “Yes. It was late. And dark. And wet. I set up a diversion on the main road, forcing them onto a rocky, narrow side thoroughfare, where the Pacific Coast Highway was being repaired. I left an oily mess there.”

            She winced.

            “HYDRA had some new tech they wanted me to use. I waited until they were right on me, even with the cliff where I was perched. I hit them with the tech, the momentum threw the car onto the oily slick I’d created, and they went over. I went down, checked they were dead, retrieved the tech so it would look like an accident, and I left them there. Mission complete.”

            Not once did he blink, and his face was deceptively passive.

            She stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. She swallowed again. “Buck—”

            “That one I remember. Yes. That one was one of the first to come back. Not long after my reintegration put me in the path of some news articles about Tony. He looks _just_ like his father, it’s _eerie_.”

            She sighed in what resembled defeat. “He said he was hoping you didn’t remember.”

            He fixed her with a hard stare. “And we’re going to _pretend_ that I _don’t_. Okay? It’s bad enough, as it is. I don’t want him to be tempted to…”

            “Ask you about it?”

            He nodded, once. “Right. So… _please_.”

            She swallowed again, and nodded. “Okay. You…don’t remember much about any of your…missions.”

He shrugged. “It’s an uneven lie, at worst. Most of them, I _don’t_. Just the faces. The faces come back to me, even if I don’t have names. Some of them are hazy. Some of them are clear as glass, like it was yesterday.”

            She ran a hand up his chest. “For you, just like for Steve, I’m sure it feels that way.”

            “It’s weird.”

            “What?”

            Another shrug. “The memories. It’s like watching an old movie reel. Like, when we were kids and the War was just breaking out, and we went to the pictures.” A vague smile crossed his face, like he knew he was aging himself again, just by talking. “But it’s like it’s me…but it’s _not_ me. I lose track of…what was _real_ , and what…”

            She swallowed, watching the grief play across his face.

            “I’m looking out through _my_ eyes, but…they don’t feel like _my_ hands, it doesn’t feel like _my_ body. It was _me_ , but it _wasn’t_. I wasn’t… _aware_ of what…I was _doing_. I can’t sort out…how much was free will and how much…”

            “Buck, _none_ of that was free will.”

            “But…how can I be _sure_ , when I remember it _so_ clearly? It feels like _I_ made the decision, _I_ went through the planning and the prep and _I_ _ran their car off the road_.” He blinked, finally looking at her, his eyes clear and blue in the morning light. “How am I supposed to separate myself from… _him_? And how much of _me_ …is too deep to retrieve?”

            Her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t ready yet to admit to herself how much this idea scared her. Reigning it in tight, she sat forward. “ _Bucky_ —”

            “ _Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine_ ,” he assured her, sighing, his hand running up her back. “I’m _okay_. It’s just…sometimes it feels like…he’s still in there…like he’s _sleeping_. Like he’s a ghost I have to carry around with me, the _bastard_.”

            She swallowed and snuggled in beside him again, nuzzling him to hide her terror-stricken face.

 


	2. First Straightaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's some angst, some fighting, shit hitting fans, and then some more angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's chapter 2. We're getting to it, now, since the first chapter was just such a total prologue. Hope you like! Let me know how I'mma doin'. :)

So, needless to say, the day hadn’t started out quite the way Darcy had envisioned. True, the afternoon and evening before had been good. They’d stayed in after their interlude in the shower, lounging around tiredly and they’d polished off the last of _Game of Thrones_ Season Four. Darcy was anxious to prod at Natasha about it, but after a glass of wine and getting curled up on the couch, the urge had mysteriously dissipated. He was feeling snuggly and held her close as they watched, curled up on his lap, and once in a while, she’d feel his mouth land tenderly on her neck, or behind her ear. But that utter contentedness had been shut down by that awful conversation.

            She sipped her coffee nervously as she worked in Tony’s shop, waiting. He always showed up eventually, even if it was just to poke his head in and say hello. He was such a sweet and quiet guy, he’d quickly become one of Darcy’s favorites. He spent a lot of time in the shops or labs, and there had been numerous days when she’d simply watched in awe as he and Jane had tossed ideas back and forth, scribbling on the clear dry-erase boards, bouncing off theories and tests.

            He’d be the one to ask. He was the scientist, the doctor

            “Could you hand me that wrench, Lewis?” Tony called.

            She stood, retrieving the tool from the table, shuffling loose papers out of the way and shaking her head at his mess. She crossed the room. “Tony, what _is_ all this stuff? And do you want me to…organize a little? God, it’s like 221B up in here. Aren’t I supposed to—”

            “Everything is where it’s supposed to be,” he cut her off, securing the comparison she’d made to the _World’s Only Consulting Detective_. Finally, he stuck his head out from under the huge body of the drone he was working on to look around, his eyes landing on the stack she’d just rolled her eyes at. “Except for that. Take care of that.”

            She chuckled, handing off the wrench with a snort. “Got it, boss.”

            He disappeared again. “And don’t call me ‘boss’. Makes me feel old.”

            She laughed again, and set to work. They were mostly invoices for parts and printouts for designs from JARVIS, and she pulled out two hanging files to use in the standing file cabinet, muttering to herself.

            Just then, the good doctor walked in, looking tired but ready to work.

            She jumped. “Bruce!”

            He looked up and smiled warmly at her. “Darcy. How’s the morning so far?”

            “Uh, fine. Fine.” She tried not to fidget and failed miserably.

            Before Tony could even begin bombarding him with questions, Bruce stepped toward her, a concerned frown on his face. “Darcy? Is something wrong?”

            “Um.” She hesitated, glancing at Tony, but he waved a hand from under the machinery.

            “Go on, get outta here, go talk girl stuff. I’ll still be here with this stupid…” The rest was lost under the drone.

            Bruce set a hand to her back. “Here. Let’s go out in the hall.”

            They stepped through the door, Darcy’s heart in her throat. God, this felt like an awful, sharp, and blatant betrayal. And it must’ve shown on her face.

            “Darcy, if there’s a problem, there’s nothing wrong with being concerned.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, before turning his warm, chocolaty gaze on her. “Better to get things in motion before they spiral out of control.” A wry smirk. “Trust me.”

            She bit her lip.

            He _knew_ , didn’t he? Knew it all, more than she realized. Of course, Tony had mentioned he’d poured over the brain scans.

            He pressed again. “I’m sure he would agree with me. It is something _he_ has to live with, after all. No matter who lives with it, _with_ _him_. It’s down to _him_ at the end of the day. _Again_. _Trust_ me.”

            She sighed, glancing around. “It’s just…” She’d done plenty of Googling in her hacker lifetime; she was no stranger. “There’s really no…scientific basis…for brainwashing…right?”

            His face didn’t twitch or change at all, didn’t betray an ounce of what he was thinking. But he didn’t imply any conjecture either. For a moment, she wanted to hug him. He hemmed and hawed, then nodded hesitantly. “Well, that’s true, to a certain extent. Mind Control—or _Suggestibility_ —is considered to be a controversial area of science, yes.”

            She nodded, her stomach twisting.

            He took a step closer and laid a hand on her arm. “That _doesn’t_ , of course, mean that things don’t happen. Science is just an area of study looking to explain the things we _don’t_ understand, Darcy. Just because science, or the field of medicine, doesn’t have a consistent definition for something doesn’t mean it’s not a _real_ scientific phenomenon, doesn’t make it any less of a legitimate case. Just like…” He smiled. “Apollo doesn’t pull the sun across the sky in his chariot. We know that _now_ , but the Ancient Greeks had to think in terms they understood, terms they had _definitions_ for. Just because we don’t _understand_ a truth or a fact doesn’t make it any less valid to _itself_. You see what I’m saying?”

            She nodded, realized she was still fidgeting, and thrust her arms across her chest, folding them.

            His gaze was so soft. “Is there cause for doubt?”

            She chewed on her lip instead. “No.”

            He steadied his gaze on her, ever the doctor. “Darcy. Something made you ask me. I think he’d want you to be at ease.”

            Her resolve crashed and burned in a spectacular fireball and she sighed, wilting and searching out the wall behind her. “No, no, it’s just…something he said, I can’t get it out of my head.” She reached up to sweep her hair out of her face and caught her hand shaking. “ _Damn_ it.”

            He tugged on her arm. “C’mon. Come sit down. You’re cracking. Sit before you crumble.” He pulled her into one of their huge boardrooms and settled her in a rolling chair.

            She took a deep breath, and gave a little hysterical laugh. “Look at me—he’s turned me into a wilting _girl_!”

            He gave her a gentle smile. “You’re in love. Love changes you. Makes you into someone new. Why do you think it hurts so much?”

            She dragged a hand down her face. “We were talking, this morning, about the War. And… _after_.”

            “Zola’s lab?”

            “Yeah. And I was _stupid_ , I asked a _stupid_ question, and—”

            “Did you stumble across a trigger?”

            She waved a hand. “ _No_ , _no_ , he’s long past all of that. _God_ , Bruce. No, he’s _never_ hurt me—he never _would_. It’s just…I shouldn’t have asked about Tony’s parents when I didn’t wanna know the answer.”

            Again, no betrayal at all in his eyes—just steady warmth. “He’s letting Tony _assume_ he doesn’t remember, when that’s one of the few things he _does_.” It wasn’t a question; it most certainly was a statement of something he’d already suspected. “Judging by the look on your face, I’m assuming he remembers it with disturbing clarity.”

            She sighed, sinking down to stare at her hands, tense in her lap. “He said it’s inconsistent. That some things are there with bright realism and other things are foggy and some things are gone entirely, and there’s _missing_ _time_.”

            He nodded reassuringly. “Darcy, you realize that’s _textbook_ amnesia…?”

            She nodded. “He said it’s difficult for him to determine what’s a real memory and what’s… _something_ _else_.”

            “Okay…?”

            “And he said…he said…a lot of it… _feels_ real. It feels like something he, _himself_ , was doing, that he’s looking out through his eyes, but it doesn’t _feel_ like his body going through the motions. He said he remembers planning and staging, but nothing else. And he said that the lines blur and he feels…like he can’t tell what was free will and what was—”

            “Mental programming?”

            She let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah. I…I told him that _none_ of it was free will, but he doesn’t seem convinced, and I don’t know how to make his guilt go away, Bruce.”

            A sad look flooded his eyes, and he spoke, low and calm, to her. “Darcy. You _can’t_. You have to let go of that. You can’t _fix_ him. Guilt is like grief. It _doesn’t_ go away. He’ll just get used to carrying it around with him.”

            She would not cry, _damn_ it, she would _not_. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He said it’s almost like…he can still _feel_ them in there, like… _he’s_ still in there, that he’s…sleeping.”

            His frown was more concern than alarm. “…The Winter Soldier?”

            She nodded, swallowing again. “I can’t get that out of my head. He said it’s like he’s living with his _ghost_.” A tear betrayed her, landing on her trembling hands.

            His hand slid up onto her shoulder. “Has he said anything like this before?”

            She shook her head. “No.”

            “And he’s been acting normally?”

            She huffed. “ _Yes_. Yes. He’s the _same_ he’s _always_ been. He actually didn’t even have any nightmares last night, just regular dreams, _good_ ones. I think that’s the first time that’s happened since _fucking_ 1943!”

            He nodded. “ _Good_. That’s good.” He sighed. “Darcy. Think very carefully, okay? Can you do that for me? Try to be clear and careful and try to ignore bias.”

            She nodded.

            “Has he been _himself_? The Bucky you know. In _every_ moment, has he been _himself_?”

            She tried her hardest to catalogue everything since New Year’s. “Yes. _Better_ , actually.”

            “You’re _sure_?”

            She nodded. “Yes. He’s been…open and less moody, and cheerful, and flirtatious and the other day he was _cooking_ , Bruce. In _every_ respect, he’s what a _normal_ person would call ‘ _fine’_.”

            He nodded. “Okay. Good.”

            She looked at him. “So…?”

            Bruce sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m no psychologist, Darcy, and this is _far_ from any typical case. We’ve already established that.”

            She sighed.

            “ _Technically_ , it’s hotly debated _theory_. Which is why there have been no charges brought on him. In _theory_ , something like what happened to him _could_ work. HYDRA has had its tentacles, if you will, in some _very_ advanced technology. In _theory_ , the human mind is much more fragile than we like to believe. Even for the _strongest_ willed individual, enough pain and torment and that will, _will_ break. Once an individual has been broken, suggestibility is a very strong possibility. They become more susceptible to other ideas, planted thoughts, ‘ _programming’_ as you called it. Combined with the right drugs, and a textbook severe case of amnesia, which he’s _clearly_ exhibiting, and under those circumstances, there’s no telling what one might be convinced to do.”

            She nodded, feeling numb.

            “That’s why torture works, Darcy,” he said, his voice low. “If you break a person’s will, they lose _everything_. _All_ feeling, _all_ emotion. That’s why he went after Steve blindly, with… _anger_ , more than anything else, _apathy_ at best. If he came to them with no manner of self-knowledge from his fall, he was putty in their hands. It might not have been a hard fight to smother whatever emotions he was still capable of feeling. From there, it might’ve been easy to simply insert what they needed him to do for them into the equation. It’s all _theoretically possible_. You should really talk to—”

            She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna talk to Dr. Rosen. She…intimidates me. And—”

            Bruce laughed. “Yeah, some of the SHIELD doctors are…less than friendly. Rosen seems alright, though. She’s well-vetted. She’s got a spotless record.”

            “I wanted to talk to _you_. You’ve looked at the scans. I’m sure you’re smarter than _everyone_ else in this building.”

            He raised a brow and blushed. “Don’t forget Tony.”

            She smirked despite herself. “Yeah. Tony.”

            Bruce sighed. “Listen. There are some results and scans, some samples and labs that were done and stored. Tony was adamant that they be run when he arrived, but after talking to him, he decided they shouldn’t even be studied until he was in a better place. I can pull them out, if you want. I’ll go over them myself.”

            She swallowed, her heart panging, backpedalling. “No, Bruce. I just…I had a…mini freak out and you don’t have to—”

            “I don’t have anything else on my plate today. I was pretty much going to give Tony a hand and check if Jane needed another pair of eyes on that Bifrost data. There’s nothing you’re interrupting.”

            She sighed again. “But Tony said you already stared at the scans until you were seeing double—”

            “Yes, the scans we swiped from _HYDRA_. These are different, run by _us_. I can take a look.”

            She hesitated.

            He stood, pulling her to her feet gently. “Say, _‘Yes, Bruce, that would be wonderful.’_ ”

            She rolled her eyes. “ _Yes, Bruce, that would be wonderful_.”

            He smiled. “Okay. Now, go. Take the day.”

            She stared. “But—”

            He was already pushing her out of the room. “ _I’ll_ take care of Tony. Why don’t you go find the gang? They were all down in the main gym, sparring, when I went through. Go relax, maybe do some observing for yourself, maybe see how he is with Steve on his own. Then go up early and try to relax. When I’m done, I’ll bring you the file. This will be just between the two of us.” His voice was just so warm and soft.

            She raised a brow. “And ‘Doctor/Patient Confidentiality’?”

            He smirked. “He’s not my patient, so HIPAA doesn’t apply. You show him or you don’t show him. This is for _you_. You’re one of my girls. Now, _go_.” He shoved her a little harder.

            She sighed, and left.

            But not before getting a hug from him—a really, really good one.

 

 

            He hadn’t lied—just about everyone else _was_ in the lower sparring gym. On the south end, Clint, Natasha, Sam, and Wanda were all working in one big group on lower body shots, their choreography like something out of a music video. They danced this way and that, laughing and ducking and kicking and landing hard on their asses, one at a time. She stood for a moment, watching them in awe.

            “You’re such a _punk_!”

            She jumped at the loud complaint, looking around.

            Down at the opposite end of the long room, Steve and Bucky were locked in hand-to-hand, laughing and yelling at each other.

            Steve had thrown himself up on one of the bars hanging low for maintenance, and was swinging out of reach, grinning.

            Bucky sighed, hands on hips, and stood there, watching him with a bemused smirk in his t-shirt and loose, workout pants, barefoot.

            Steve—his fashion double—grinned.

            Darcy smiled. So _this_ was what everyone else did all day. No wonder the paperwork and reports she needed never got done—the only ones pulling actual office work were her and Maria.

            “If you think that’s gonna stop me, jerk…” Bucky called, shaking his head.

            She chuckled and began toward them, trying not to look like an idiot on the floor mat in her heels. Finally, she pulled them off and carried them in her hand as she crossed the room, her long black pencil skirt snug on her knees. She’d found it a few weeks prior and the cut of it—like a reverse bell, tight around her hips and below her knees—reminding her of the forties. She’d shamelessly bought it.

            She smirked as she rounded on them; Bucky had left before her and hadn’t seen it yet, nor had he seen the snug white top she’d worn to go along with it, low in the front, or her red kitten heels.

            He jumped, the serum in his blood giving him plenty of edge, and tugged on Steve’s exposed legs, pulling him down with a shout to land hard on his back on the mat. He slammed down with a grunt and lay there, looking dazedly up at Bucky, who stood over him with a smug grin. “Still think you’re cute, Rogers?”

            Steve sighed. “Uncle.”

            “There you go.” Bucky offered a hand up.

            Steve took it and bounced easily to his feet.

            Immediately, they went back to it, circling each other and laughing.

            She stood there, smiling and watching them as they traded silly barbs and darted strikes at each other, nearly all of them landing, and definitely all of them capable of hurting anyone else.

            Wondering how long she’d be able to stand there and go unnoticed, she tamped down the desire she felt rushing just watching them. Any display of physicality from Bucky was a horrible turn on and she swallowed it back, trying to focus, and trying not to watch the way his muscles worked as he gained the upper hand and flipped Steve clean on his back all over again.

            He hit hard again, grunting, then laughing. “God. I hate you.”

            “Hey!” Natasha yelled from the other end of the room. “Don’t break my husband. I know six different ways to emasculate you, and that one over _there_ wouldn’t appreciate that very much.” She pointed at Darcy.

            Laughing, she tried to shrink back, but ultimately failed as every set of eyes landed on her.

            They all called a _hello_ , and went back to it like little drones.

            Steve and Bucky, however, paused, staring at her.

            She felt the flush heat its way up her neck and onto her cheeks. “What?”

            But it was Steve who spoke, looking a little dumbfounded, in that adorable, yet not annoying way he sometimes did. “Ain’t you a dame just walked outta 1942.”

            She flushed brighter. “Liked the skirt online,” was all she offered, shrugging.

            Bucky winked. “Were you plannin’ on showin’ me this little number later or were you just bein’ a tease?”

            Steve took advantage, a grim smirk on his face as he grabbed Bucky from behind, spinning and lowering a kick to his legs, laughing as he landed hard on his own back.

            Bucky coughed, glaring good-naturedly up at him. “See? You’re a punk.”

            Steve grinned. “Don’t get distracted.”

            Bucky stood on his own. “Not my fault your girl wears the same cat suit every day.”

            Steve laughed. “I happen to like that cat suit.”

            “You like getting her out of the cat suit, Steve,” Darcy chimed in, and turned, feeling their eyes on her ass as she went to sit on an observation stool. “Go on, boys. Don’t let _me_ stop you.”

            But they were back to teasing and bickering.

            “Keep your eyes in your head, Rogers.”

            “Hey—looking ain’t touching.”

            “Oh, is _that_ how it works, now? Should I go check out Nat, then?”

            “I don’t think that would be a good idea—on _her_ part, not mine.”

            “You sure?”

            “You _hearing_ this, Darcy? You gonna let him talk about looking at another girl with you _right_ _there_?”

            She shrugged, flashing them both a coy look, even as she knew Bucky had no physical affection for the spy—she’d asked him, once. “I know where he is every night.”

            “Oh, and where’s that?” Steve needled, smirking.

            “ _My bed_.”

            Bucky whistled low. “Point lost, Stevie. Quit while you’re ahead.”

            “Who says he’s _ahead_ , gentlemen?”

            They both laughed, and she enjoyed the loose, masculine sound, the giggle of Steve and the huskiness of her Bucky, relaxed and easy.

            “Go on, boys. I’ve been sent down to observe your techniques. Go to it.”

            “No reports to run?” Bucky asked, sidling over for his towel, wiping his face with it as he watched her.

            She hesitated, then swallowed, schooling her features. “Nah, Tony kicked me out.” The words felt like a sharp stick in her chest. He’d never lied to her—she just knew it, somehow—and here she went, acting like a duplicitous bitch.

            Rogers came over too, reaching for his water bottle. He chugged the whole thing before throwing himself down on the mat at her feet. “Stark sure is moody lately.”

            Bucky followed suit, snatching up his own water before ducking for a peck on the mouth.

            She made a show of whining at how sweaty he was, but kissed him anyway and shoved him in Steve’s direction.

            “Well, the Iron Legion isn’t cooperating, I guess,” he said as he threw himself down and sprawled out on his back, breathless.

            “Yeah, he’s been in a stalemate with it for days now. Think the drone’s gaining ground, actually.” She looked down at them. “What’s with you two? C’mon, I’m supposed to be observing you guys in action, and you’re lazing around like a couple _monkeys_? Is _this_ why I never have the paperwork I need for Tony’s reports?” she teased, nudging at Bucky’s head with a foot.

            Steve groaned.

            “Oh, what’s that, Rogers? C’mon, I know _this one over here_ slept, I was right there in the bed. What’s _your_ excuse?”

            He hauled himself up, rolling his eyes, but his mouth was quirked in a smile. “She like this at home?”

            Bucky followed, his eyes full of mischief. “Nah, she’s in a good mood at home. It’s all in the technique.”

            She burst out laughing. “Oh, _God_. You two are a pair. C’mon. Let’s see your mad skills.”

            They whiled away the morning and into the afternoon going over drills and sets. The two of them moved like a well-oiled machine. When Darcy went to get sandwiches and coffee upstairs, she happened across the lab. Bruce was too engrossed to look up as she entered, but she left his espresso on the counter as a thank you and continued on her way.

            When she made it back down, it was to find everyone had paired off, Bucky alone on the side, pointing out flaws in everyone’s skill sets.

            She curled up on the floor next to him. “What’s with this?”

            He shrugged and winked impishly. “We all decided to pair off, but no one’s brave enough for me. So every day around this time, I end up the coach.”

            She frowned. “That’s _lame_.”

            He took his coffee from her. “Why? I’d rather not have an accident. And besides, from what everyone says, I’m the only one with any skills that don’t need refining, apparently.” He shrugged.

            She sighed, dissatisfied.

            But she watched as he called out shots and everyone went through the motions, eating her lunch and sipping at her coffee.

            She was just thinking about going back up to check on Tony, when a soft voice called her from the door. She looked up to find Bruce there, a hint in his gaze as he waved awkwardly at those that noticed him. “Darce?”

            She stood. “Yeah?” she asked, playing along.

            “Tony’s got something he needs you to look at upstairs.”

            “Oh.” Trying not to shake, she gathered up her things.

            “Where you goin’, doll?” Bucky asked, coming back across the mat.

            “Tony.”

            “Mm. See you upstairs.” He pecked her on the mouth and waved at Bruce.

            Bruce smiled and led her back out again.

            The door shut behind them.

            “Anything alarming?” she asked, pushing her hair back with a trembling hand and wondering if she really wanted the answer.

            But Bruce shook his head. “Not really, no. But here.” He held out the file. “You might want to read through it all yourself. Lots of…interesting things in there.”

            She stared at the thick file. “Bruce—”

            “It’s alright.”

            They got in the elevator.

            “You on eighty-eight?”

            She nodded.

            JARVIS took the order and the elevator began.

            “Look. Just read the file. If you’re confused about anything, come and find me. I don’t think I saw anything particularly alarming, but if there’s anything strange that comes up, I really think you should go to Dr. Rosen. She’s good at what she does. Come to Tony, then, and me. Okay?”

            She nodded, clutching the folder to her chest.

            He pressed his hand to her back and gave her a soft smile, pushing her gently off as the doors opened. “You’re not alone, Darce. Neither is he.”

            The doors shut, leaving her in the silence of their hallway.

            She sighed and flashed her badge, and went in, going immediately for a pair of lounge pants and a t-shirt, a blanket and her coffee, still unfinished. It was only three, so she had plenty of time. Usually the gang packed up their various activities around four, office hours around five, so she hoped she could get through it all quickly.

            The first two dozen pages were largely the brain scans, which, while interesting, told her a lot of nothing, since she wasn’t a neuroscientist. The next dozen or so were run-ups on his general health. He’d come in at 5’11”, 140 pounds, giving him a BMI of 19.5, most of which was muscle mass.

            His blood type was A-positive.

            Blue eyes.

            Brown hair.

            _Approximately_ age 28. Hm. Interesting.

            _Enhanced neurological features_. What the hell did that mean? She flipped some pages. _Increased electrical activity in the frontal lobe_. Better, faster coordination.

            _Occipital lobe enhancement. Increased vision sequencing, with focus on night vision_.

            _High activity in the cerebellum. Increased sequencing of fine motor movements_. So, freakishly good at hand to hand?

            She sighed, squinting at the typing and straightening her glasses.

            _Spinal cord and brain stem appear normal, deferring normal to increased heart rate as needed_ , etc, etc, respiration rate, sexual arousal…blah, blah, blah. Well, that all seemed fine. She blushed.

            Oh. Here. The serum.

            She read, skimming quickly. … _Could be responsible for i.e. see previous entry…enhanced learning of fine motor skills_. So he could learn by observation? Wicked.

            _Increased metabolic rate_. Okay, so he could eat like a horse just to get through a normal person’s day. Steve. Check.

            _Increased hormonal output_. Also, check. Well, she didn’t think she’d ever get it out of Natasha, but it was likely their sex life was as healthy as hers. She blushed again. Check.

            _Disruption/reduction of circadian rhythms, allowing for disrupted sleep/lesser equivalent required for typical/atypical functionality compared to average individual._

_Increased efficacy of sexual reproduc—_

            She flipped the page, blushing again. Check.

            Okay, safe to say he’d been wrong, then. She bit her lip, making a mental note to double check her next appointment with the doctor.

_Increased concentration/fine motor skills/vision/depth perception_. Well. He’d been a skilled sniper beforehand, so it would follow…Check.

            She turned another page.

            _Similar in composition to Project: Rebirth serum (A. Erskine): 96%_

            Her jaw dropped open and she stared at the page for a full five minutes before she noticed the clock on the table change and quickly shut it.

            “Holy shit,” she said aloud.

            “ _Is there a problem, Ms. Lewis_?” JARVIS cut in. “ _Mr. Stark, as well as Mr. Barnes are two floors below at present; I might have them to your location if you so require._ ”

            She waved a hand distractedly. “No, no! _God_ , JARVIS.”

            Whew. Well. That all explained…a _lot_.

            She shook her head in disbelief and flipped a few more pages, knocking off another two dozen just of brain scans, with what looked—to the naked eye, anyway—like sections of the aforementioned areas of his brain lit up. She frowned, bit her lip, and kept going.

            The initial intake psychologist’s notes were at the very back.

            She paused, unsure if she wanted to continue.

            But, no. She’d come this far. Might as well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

            There were checklists with scribbles covering a solid 80% of most of the pages, and there were probably a dozen of those, describing in detail the thoughts behind each check.

            _Subject exhibits symptoms of clinical disturbance_. Check.

            _Subject exhibits symptoms of clinical depression_. Check.

            _Subject exhibits signs of the following in intermittent phases_ : fear and conditioning, suggestibility, mental trauma, PTSD, nightmares, night terrors, severe panic disorder, clinical anxiety. Suspect torture, including but not limited to: electroshock, psychological manipulation.

            Subject displays clear signs of mental trauma, guilt, shame, anger, and increased reactivity.

            _Suggest psychological follow up_? Check.

            _Suggest containment_? No check.

            _Subject may be considered dangerous at present to self or others_ : No check. With a small note: _Subject exhibits signs of increased disturbance at actions, RBG (initials) believes subject to be exposed to increased suggestibility and/or mind control. In keeping with HYDRA notes, see Zola, Arnim, electroshock used to dull senses until subject near catatonic state, at which point missions inserted as single thought process. Repeat. Possible use of Benzodiazepines?_

            That was the last page.

            She flipped it closed and sat there in the rapidly dimming room, suddenly icy cold and numb at the same time.

            Just then, the door beeped.

            Jumping, she had just enough time to slide the file between the low chair and high carpet before the door opened and Bucky came in, hair still damp from his shower down in the gyms, t-shirt snug on his muscled chest.

            He glanced up as he tossed his key card down by the door, and smiled. “There’s my best girl.”

            She hoped she looked neither flushed nor pale; a dead giveaway, and he was a pro at spotting the smallest hint. Of course, how hilarious that she’d just read he’d been trained to do it like a fucking dog. “ _Hey_!”

            He crossed the room to her and threw himself down on the opposite end, pulling her by her ankles until she was closer before kneading at her feet. “And how _is_ my best girl?”

            She was staring down at her ring. “Fine.”

            He made a scoffing, playful sound. “Just ‘ _fine’_? What’s wrong?”

            It came bursting out before she could stop it. “You-know-how-much-I-love-you-right?”

            He paused, looking at her hard. “What’s up, Darce?”

            She smirked. “You’ve taken to modern lingo _way_ faster than Steve.”

            Epic. Fail. “Darce.”

            She sighed. “It was just a really long day, and I feel like we left things kinda weird this morning, and…you do know, right?”

            His eyes softened and he nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

            This suddenly felt so important, though, _too_ important to let go with a casual ‘ _yeah’_. “No, _really_ , Jamie. You get that, right? That I’m _head-over-heels-done-looking-marry-you-tomorrow-if-you-begged_ -in love with you. You’re probably the most important thing in my life.”

            His face changed, brows drawing together in a melancholy sort of way. He paused, staring at her. “Not sure why yet. But yes.”

            “ _How_ do you know?”

            A gentle shrug. “It’s in your eyes.”

            “You’re _that_ good at reading people—you and Steve?”

            Another shrug. “Yeah. Kinda.”

            With a sigh, she sat forward and kissed him, hard and insistent. For a few moments, she thought it would work, as his hands tightened around her legs and he kissed her back.

            But when she found the hem on his t-shirt, she was met with instant failure. He grabbed her hand in his iron grip and pulled back, looking at her evenly. “What’s wrong?”

            She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

            “ _Darce_.” Serious. No playing.

            She sighed. “Nothing’s _wrong_. It was a really long day, and—”

            An eyebrow ticked up. “Darcy. Even if I _couldn’t_ tell you were lying because I can hear your pounding heart and count your rapid pulse, I’d still know you were lying.”

            She slumped back. “What’s my tell?”

            He smiled, reaching up to comb her hair back from her face. “Nothing, really. But you’re strung like a bow. I can read you like a book.” His eyes softened, and his voice to match. “What’s wrong?”

            She sighed again, her hands shaking in his lap. “It’s just…”

            He reached out to take them up in his and squeezed gently. “Talk to me, Lewis.”

            She took a deep breath. “I…I might’ve…read your file.”

            He nodded.

            And it all rushed out. “Something you said this morning, it freaked me out, and Bruce could tell, and he offered to go over your labs and he smuggled your initial file out and gave it to me, and I read it, because I’m an idiot, and…” Her confession drifted off. And she didn’t have the guts to look at him.

            “That’s it?”

            Her gaze snapped up.

            He shrugged. “You read that beast of a file?” He craned his head to look around. “Where the hell did you hide the thing? Sucker’s huge.”

            Her jaw dropped open. “You’re not _mad_?”

            Something ticked in his face, and he smirked, leaning over around her legs and he dug around under the couch, grinning when he came up successful, and tossed the book on the coffee table beside their photo. “You are the most transparent fiancé a guy could have. Seriously.”

            She gaped at him. “ _You’re not mad_?”

            He laughed. “Why would I be mad? So you read the thing—I’ve read it probably half a dozen times over.”

            “You _have_?!”

            “Course I have! It’s _my_ file!”

            “Well, I’ve never read anything SHIELD mocked up for me!”

            He snorted. “Yeah, because it’s probably fairly empty. You’re normal.”

            “Can’t be that normal, if I agreed to marry you.”

            He barked that laugh of his. “Touché, Lewis. You want me to sneak into the labs tonight in the dark and liberate yours, then?” He winked.

            She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Felt guilty and awful for nothing.”

            He sighed. “Darce, if I freaked you out this morning, you should’ve said something. You shouldn’t have to go through your whole day in a state of panic. I _knew_ something was wrong when you came down today.”

            “You _did_?”

            He pulled a face. “You came down for _observation_? C’mon, Darce, gimme a little credit. We _live_ together. I can tell when you’re off. I _never_ see you during office hours unless we pass in the hall, and then you show up in the _sparring gym_?”

            She slumped. “ _That_ obvious?”

            He smirked. “Probably only to me. And, maybe, Natasha, because she’s freakishly observant.”

            “What about Steve? Did he say anything?”

            He snorted. “That it was nice of you to stop down, yeah.” He laughed. “Always has been kind of a goofball.”

            She sighed.

            His hand came up her back. “What freaked you out?”

            She bit her lip, hesitating again.     

            “Come on. You gotta tell me these things or they’ll just cause a rift. You wanna marry me, you gotta find a way to deal with the baggage.”

            She stared at him, horrified that he would make that jump. “It’s not _that_!”

            He shrugged, his voice light. “Then what?”

            She settled in his lap, and snuggled against his chest. “God, no, it’s not that. There’s no…there’s no rift, God, that’s the _opposite_ of what’s going on here.”

            His hand caressed up her spine, then back down again. “Darcy…?” he prompted.

            “I just…don’t want you to worry any more than you already do. I feel like my concerns only compound the problem.”

            “ _What_ problem?”

            “This grief that you carry around.”

            He was quiet for a long moment. “…Everyone does it, Darcy. Some of us just carry a heavier load. It’s no different with me. No matter _how_ different it all seems, I’m just another person at the end of the day. It’s down to me.” Just like what Bruce said.

            “Bruce said my…desire to…fix you…was a hang-up.”

            He snorted. “It _is_.”

            She jerked her head up to look at him.     

            He was smiling. “You can’t fix me. It’s never gonna happen. _Nothing_ fixes what happened to me, Darce. It’s just a part of my physical makeup now.” He shrugged. “I’m in the process of accepting that. But he’s right. There are more important things you can set your mind to. I’m fine—as fine as I’m ever gonna be.”

            She stared. “You really feel that way?”

            He shrugged again. “Is there another way I _should_ feel?”

            “But you said…that…you felt like the Winter Soldier was…still in there.” She shivered.

            His face changed and his arms around her tightened. “Ah. The culprit.”

            She blushed.

            “I should’ve worded that better. I’m sorry,” he murmured, resting his chin on her head. “No. The Winter Soldier’s not…there’s not another evil guy up in my head, Darce.”

            She smoothed her hand down his t-shirt. “I didn’t think there was. You…made it sound like HYDRA was still up there.”

            He took a deep breath. “No, no. I just meant that…it was difficult to accept that…I _am_ him. That’s all. I’m him. I’m capable of being The Winter Soldier. At _any_ moment. I…don’t like that I’m potentially not…in control of my baser emotions at all times, I don’t like feeling like one moment lacking stern control could hurt you. Or someone else.”

            She thought back to that moment on New Year’s Eve, where she’d met him firsthand. “You didn’t kill Lukin.”

            A sad smile. “Because you were there. I probably would have otherwise. As awful as the guy is, that bothers me. I did enough damage, and I’m still not sure how much was me acting under my own will. I’d rather not be responsible for any more bloodshed.”

            She tugged idly at the material and let it fall back again.

            “That’s all I meant.”

            “ _None_ of it was your own will.”

            “…You’ll understand if it doesn’t always feel that way. How can I be sure when I can go back and watch it all happening in front of me? It might not have been me, but those things still happened, and to some degree, I’m responsible, whether by choice or not. At _best_ , that’s Involuntary Manslaughter.”

            She sighed. “Buck—”

            “Everything’s okay. Alright? These are things I mull over all the time. They aren’t a gage for my mental instability.”

            She scowled. “You’re not _mentally unstable_. Besides…where did all this come from? You seemed so… _not_ like this on New Year’s.”

            He shrugged, contemplative. “I dunno. You were right. We got out of that alive. Together. I figured that, at some point, that was telling. And no one died. Yay. I didn’t kill anyone.”

            “Even the bad guys.”

            “Besides…you wouldn’t have said ‘yes’ if you really thought I was crazy.”

            She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I _do_ think you’re crazy. I just really like this ring.”

            He burst out laughing.

            “Oh, and by the way, you might want to give that thing another read through. I think there were a couple things you might’ve missed.”

            He frowned. “Like what?”

            She blushed. “You are…very much like Steve. Like, 96% like Steve.”

            His eyes went wide. “The stuff in my blood is—”

            “Almost identical to Erskine’s original formula.”

            He stared.

            “Oh, and, uh…that suspicion you had, was, therefore… _way_ off.”

            “Oh?” He blinked, not quite catching on.

            “Yes. You’ve both got very determined little…swimmers.”

            He gave a short laugh, then, a smirk dancing around his mouth, and his ears went a touch pink. “ _Really_?”

            She nodded, pursing her lips. “Yep.” Another blush. “And, uh, increased reactionary responses, and that applies to… _all_ areas. Which…explains some things.”

            An eyebrow slowly rose. “I have yet to hear you complaining…”

            She giggled, snuggling closer until she was twisted around on his lap, straddling him. “Never.”

            She learned that the couch was almost as comfortable as the bed.

 

 

            “So, Small Fry, when were you planning on making your big announcement?”

            It took Darcy a moment to realize that she was being spoken to, and finally glanced up into Tony’s face with wide eyes. “What?”

            _God, please, not this again. Can’t a girl just wear a piece of jewelry in this place?!_

            Bucky, beside her at the conference table, stiffened, aware of how much she hated being the center of attention. He’d learned that quickly, as the reason she often hid in her huge sweaters and her glasses when she had a full box of contacts in his bathroom cabinet.

            Tony smirked, glancing around the table at the few other people who had already arrived for debrief. “C’mon, kids. No formal announcement? No blurb in the newspaper?” he teased.

            She felt the blush rise in her face and scowled at him. “This isn’t Britain, Tony. And it’s 2016, not 1896.”

            Bucky snorted, leaning back in his chair and stretching.

            But that only drew Tony’s attention. “What about you, there, Barnes? Anything outta you?”

            “What—I get a stupid nickname, but he’s just ‘Barnes’?!” she protested.

            Bucky shrugged. “I’m deferring to her on this one, Stark.”

            A sly grin took the inventor’s face. “Ah. I see how it is.”

            Darcy sighed. “You really don’t.”

            Sam spoke up from the other end of the table, where he was lounging in a practiced look of carelessness. “Yeah, guys, you kinda hit it outta the ballpark with that rock. We’re all wondering where the ball’s going next.”

            It was Bucky’s turn to sigh. “All I did was walk into Tiffany’s and buy a ring! Why is this so fascinating for everyone?! From what I remember, that tradition is still the same.”

            Just then Steve and Natasha walked in.

            Bucky took the opportunity. “No one kicked up a fuss when these two got hitched.”

            “That’s because everyone’s afraid of the missus,” Tony pointed out.

            “And no one’s afraid of _him_?” Darcy questioned, gesturing at the soldier beside her.

            The whole room went silent.

            Everyone looked at each other.

            And Bucky burst out laughing, an infectious, husky sound. “I must be losing my edge!”

            Maria walked in, then, head down as she studied a file in her hands. She looked up at the noise. “What’s so funny?”

            Tony sighed, clearly put out that he’d been deflected again. “The snowman’s gone round the big one. Go ahead, Hill.”

            She sat down at the head of the table, pausing to knock Sam’s propped up feet off the edge, and got started, flicking through her file as she spoke.

            “So, Steve, you were right. The footage you guys swiped from that vessel in the Black Sea came back positive. Looks like Alexsander Lukin went to ground.”

            Steve shook his head. “That part wasn’t me. Buck recognized him.”

            Darcy frowned as she typed this out on her open laptop. “See? You should’a killed the bastard. I shouldn’t have stopped you.”

            “That would’ve been a lot of paperwork, guys,” Maria reminded her. “At least, this way, we have the opportunity to see where he leads us.”

            She reached up to rub at the back of her neck with one hand as she hit the Enter key.

            “What’s wrong?” Bucky murmured.

            “Just a headache.” She waved him off and went back to typing.

            “Anyway, our intel is in line with everything else. They’ve been hanging around the Romanian coast. This Black Sea vessel was a one-shot deal, and we’re lucky we were able to catch them when we did.”

            “And what did our gorgeous boys find?” Wanda chimed in as she breezed through the door and took a seat on Darcy’s other side.

            Maria glanced up. “Well. Steve took on the job of going through everything. Steve?”

            He sat forward and folded his hands on the table. “Some weird stuff, none of it really gels together real well.”

            “Like what?” Darcy asked, hitting her Enter key again.

            “Some odd notes, files on old operations and projects. A tagalong file on the _Winter Soldier Project_ — _still_ open.”

            Everyone glanced at Bucky, who shrugged casually.

            “Also, some extensive notes on _Operation: Paperclip_ , which also struck me as odd. Numerous mock-ups of the personal profile of the Red Skull, excess data on _Project: Insight_ , also _scrapped_ ”—he glanced at Bucky again—“but nothing on future projects or even information on current agents. There were numerous detailed maps of some high-population areas of the country, but nothing concrete.”

            “So, we’ve got nothing to go on?” Tony asked, frowning.

            Maria reached over to shove Sam’s feet off the table again. “Looks like.”

            But Bucky shook his head, leaning forward over the table. “I wouldn’t say that. Something’s cookin’ and I’ve got a bad feeling. They were out in full force for New Year’s. I swear every agent in the greater New York area was out for me that night. They wanted me alive, or they wanted me left for dead. They got _neither_. That night, I was too tired to think much about strategy, but ever since then, I’m certain it was…almost _too_ easy. They were _sloppy_ , and I’d say it was because they underestimated me, but now I’m not so sure.” He looked over at Steve. “Is there surveillance footage of Lukin in the data?”

            Steve nodded, pushing a photograph across the table toward him to reveal a security camera shot of the same bespoke-d gentleman crossing the dim, grainy view.

            He and Darcy both leaned over, Darcy still typing as she glanced.

            “Darcy?” Maria prompted.

            “That’s him alright.”

            Bucky sighed, pulling a metal hand through his shaggy hair. “If he’s gone to ground, and this is where he’s gone, nothing good is coming. He had way too many men at his beck and call.”

            “I agree,” Sam spoke up, hitching his feet up again. “Something was weird about that ship. I mean, it isn’t the first time we went in and didn’t see a soul, but all the equipment was on and running, all the files were scattered, none of it makes any sense.”

            “So, what are we left with?” Wanda asked, leaning back with a sigh.

            “I can shore up security in the building, we can all hibernate in here for a while, see if something goes down somewhere, and wait out the storm a little?” Tony offered.

            Clint spoke up from the corner. “Doesn’t seem right, just pretending to be a sitting duck.”

            “How else do we lure them out, though?” Steve projected. “We don’t want to relax into a false sense of security either, do we?”

            But Tony had an answer for that, too. “I can put out some feelers. I’ve got friends over in Constanţa, you know, the business block Eastern European types, don’t like to come out of their holes, but like to be at the center of the action. Can see if they’ve noticed anything weird.”

            Bruce stepped in from the neighboring lab, where he worked, the door standing open so he could listen. “I’ve got a buddy at NORAD. Would it be helpful to see if I can bribe him to check out some of the street view satellite imagery?”

            “Nat and I can stop by The Fridge and have a few words with von Strucker?” Steve offered.

            Maria stood, nodding and shoving Sam’s feet back off the conference table. “Sounds like a plan. Regroup here…next Tuesday?”

            Everyone murmured the affirmative and shuffled out.

            Tony was already on the phone, jabbering in a foreign language that Bucky told her was Romanian, Bruce was scurrying down the hall to his office, Maria and Sam were arguing about what was appropriate during meetings, and Steve and Natasha were discussing flights out of LaGuardia. Sometimes it was just too obvious to take the quinjet.

            They went back to the apartment and lounged around. Bucky curled up on the couch with _To Kill a Mockingbird_ and Darcy lay down with her headphones for a nap, her head in his lap. His metal fingers felt good in her hair and against her scalp, and she was out in minutes.

            When she woke, she found she was alone on the couch, but was tucked into the blanket. Her headache was gone. Groggy, she sat up to find him puttering around in the kitchen, something simmering on the stove.

            “If that’s more pasta, I’m gonna wonder if you’re trying to fatten me up for something, Barnes,” she quipped.

            He smiled. “It’s just chicken, calm down. Hungry?”

            She yawned as she hauled herself off the couch. “Starving.”

“How’s your head?”

“Fine. Man, did I luck out with you. A man that’s good in bed _and_ in the kitchen. Where’d you come from?”

            He snorted. “Brooklyn, 1917. I _think_. Doesn’t matter. Back then, you didn’t waste anything. So, yeah, you got a man that can cook.”

            “And pilot the quinjet, and break people in half, and see through any lie, and shoot a moving target from a million miles away, and beat up Captain America, and make me laugh, and has really good taste in books—and _women_ —and what else? Oh! Right!” She snapped her fingers. “Almost forgot. Bring me so hard I see stars. There’s that, too.”

            He laughed and shook his head. “Has it occurred to you that maybe the only reason the sex is so good has nothing to do with any skill and everything to do with the fact we’re in love?”

            She sighed dreamily as she crossed into the room and sidled up to him. “Yeah, but that’s super cheesy, so I sorta tossed it out as soon as it occurred to me.”

            He snorted again.

            “Besides, like I said, I only said ‘yes’ for the ring. Remember?”

            He sighed.

            She pressed herself against his back and ran a hand up his side until he flinched, ticklish, and finally relented to turning so she could press a kiss to his cheek.

            They ate and curled up for TV, turning it off quickly in favor of other pursuits, most of which she claimed was payment for his skills in the kitchen.

            All it did for him was confirm a suspicion; she was even more beautiful in half-light, and he sighed as he kissed her, the sunset winking off the porcelain skin of her shoulder.

 

            He woke late, _very_ late, to find the room dark as pitch and silent, even the vents quiet as it kept up with the winter thermostat.

            Something else odd he’d had to acclimate to. He remembered having trouble sleeping at camp, at first, being shocked that once lights out was enforced, it was remarkably silent. For a kid who’d grown up in the noise of Brooklyn, it was too quiet, sterile.

            He’d been glad the windows in his suite opened after he’d moved in, relieved he could let in the constant buzz of New York at night so he could sleep.

            But it was winter, now, and the Tower was shut up tight, sealed up like a coffin, and it bothered him, disrupting his already uneven circadian rhythms.

            He sat up, frowning, trying to remember the odd dream he’d been having. There had been an awful, shooting pain in the back of his neck, and—

            An icy bolt shot up his back and lodged in the area in question, making him gasp in pain. Just as he gathered himself from the onslaught, another hit, twice as hard and twice as painful, and he dragged himself, squinting, out of bed and into the ensuite bathroom.

            Another hot lance shot up his neck and into the back of his head, and he doubled over, gasping as his vision threatened to go dark. He was able to pull himself to the mirror through sheer force of will, but when he peered in the mirror, everything looked normal. Craning a little, he could see most of his throat and neck looked pale and ordinary. If anything, his features were pinched from the pain and his eyes were tiny pinpricks, but that could be attributed to the sudden light he flashed on in the doorway.

            Another bolt burst in his neck, then, so hard and agonizing that he did double over, his vision winking out—

            And when he came to, the pain was gone, just like that.

            He stood. The mirror held no clues.

            That didn’t matter, really. He had other things to do. Objectives. Mission perimeters.

            Moving quickly and efficiently, he went into the adjoining room and over to his go bag. He rifled around, searching out what he needed, before turning to the girl in the bed.

            She was beautiful; it was true.

            He crossed the room to her, watching her curled form sleep, peaceful and even breathing, easy, dreamless and soft.

            Then he lowered the knife to her throat.

            At the last moment, she woke, shifting to the side with a shriek, to avoid the blade, and her hands went up to block and push him.

            She was surprisingly strong for such a little thing and she grappled with him with shocking ease, a knee up to grip and throw him aside onto the bed, where they continued to struggle.        

            But he quickly gained the upper hand, bearing down on her with his hands around her pretty throat, squeezing the life out of her, terror in her eyes as she struggled beneath his shining metal hand. Then she stopped.

 

 

            Bucky lunged awake with a soft shout, covered in sweat and his heart trying to beat a fast path out of his chest.

            For a long, awful moment, he wasn’t sure where he was and had to refresh himself.

  1. Eighty-eighth floor. _Darcy_ —



            He jumped, daring to glance down for one heart-stopping moment.

            But Darcy was beside him, sound asleep, remarkably not stirred this time by his waking. She mewled softly in her sleep as he watched and sought him out with a hand.

            He flinched, darting softly back, and sliding carefully off the bed to avoid waking her. For a long moment, he stood watching her sleep, enamored with the way the moonlight cut a stripe across the graceful curve of her back, her eyes softly closed and her long lashes streaking shadows across her face. He reached out, out of habit, to brush a strand of hair from her face and found his hand trembling, and fled into the bathroom.

            He carefully shut the door and flicked on the light, staring at his own pale reflection. His eyes were dilated, nearly swallowing his cornflower irises.

            “Just a nightmare,” he murmured to himself, turning on the tap and splashing icy water on his face. “Just a nightmare.” He swallowed.

            But, God, he’d never had one like that before.

            He’d never had one where he’d…

            He flinched again, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt at banishing the image of a struggling Darcy from his brain. “ _Jesus Christ_.” He reached up to run the pad of a finger along the back of his neck, where the pain had been so awful. God, he could still feel it. But it was just smooth skin there, not even raised in the slightest where Tony had—

            _His tracker_.

            His tracker insert. It sat at the back of his neck, just there, at the top of his spine.

            Brain turning, he bit his lip, considering his options, then dismissing them.

            HYDRA couldn’t… _could_ they?

            If they could use what amounted to _theoretical_ science to _brainwash_ him into becoming their heartless assassin, surely they could…

            Sighing in what felt like partial defeat, he snicked off the light and opened the door, going back into the bedroom and over to his go bag, where he stored it in the corner when they weren’t on ops.

            He rifled around, quiet as a mouse, before pulling out one of his knives, needle sharp. He’d just cleaned them, did every time they got back, no matter if he’d used them or not. Some habits were so drilled in with the military that they never left, even if you weren’t paying attention.

            He went back into the bathroom and considered his real options. It could be useful, if things were going south, to have a tracker on him. Lead the team to HYDRA—or vice-versa.       

            Then again, if there was something odd going on, he didn’t want the tracker making him vulnerable. He had vowed, that day at the Smithsonian, that never again would he be locked out of his own mind.

            How did the saying go? Darcy had mentioned him once. Mandela? _I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul_ …?

            He shook it off, like he’d shaken off so much else, and took up the knife. Thanks to a false photographic memory that he’d been fitted with—he rolled his eyes—he remembered precisely where Tony had shot the tiny thing into the thin layer of flesh at the top of his spine, just by feeling alone. It was just a good thing his hair was long enough to cover the cut he’d have to make, or Darcy would be alarmed.

            Biting his lip, he set to work.

 

            It didn’t take long the next day. Appropriate, really, since they struck at the crack of dawn, when the sun was just barely winking over the horizon.

            As Manhattan was bathed in syrupy gold, the Tower smoked.

            Darcy was just coming awake when the bed shifted. She peered around groggily, but found herself alone, Bucky dressing quickly in the corner, all in his black SHIELD combat gear, his arm glinting in the new light.  

            She lunged awake. “What—”

            “HYDRA. I gotta go, doll.”

            She slid clumsily out of bed, her thin teddy nightgown clinging to her body. “ _What_ —?”

            “They struck a bottom section of the Tower. They’re trying to use one of the lower balconies to gain access. I _gotta go_.”

            Still half confused, she tried to recall protocol and slid on a pair of jeans, her Keds, a sports bra, and one of his soft, well-worn gray t-shirts, tossing her hair up in a ponytail and grabbing up her purse just in time for him to be ready. She slid her glasses on as they rushed the door.

            He looked scary all put together. Everything was black, down to his boots and his vest, and she was very grateful he no longer had that creepy mask, wasn’t even sure what it’d been for, other than hiding his real identity. “ _Don’t_ go near the outer elevator, use the one for personnel,” he told her. “I’m meeting the team in the stairwell. Go down to the safe rooms, seal yourself in. I’m sure Jane and Pepper are already there. We’ll come and get you when it’s done, okay?”

            She grabbed at his arm. “ _Okay_? No, no, it’s not _okay_. _None of this is okay_ —”

            “ _I just need you to be safe_.”

            Her mouth shut with a snap at his soft tone.

            “Okay? I need that.”

            She sighed. “You just…make sure you come back to me, soldier boy, or I will _never_ forgive you! You got that? _I will be super pissed at you, dude_!”

            He nodded. “I know,” he said, softly, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

            She shamelessly got lost in the feeling of his arms around her, his left one whirring softly as he tightened his hold. Safe. This was what safe felt like; she needed to commit it to memory.

            “I love you,” he murmured softly.

            She nodded.

            He pressed a tender kiss to her mouth and then was gone, pulling the handle to the stairwell door.

            She stood there in the empty hallway, and when the door snicked shut, she jumped. Sighing, she went into protocol mode, and crossed to the elevator for personal use, trying not to feel guilty for snapping at JARVIS when he asked her location, even though it wasn’t like he had feelings she could hurt.

            She came out near the sparring gyms and went through the door at the far end of the hallway. As expected, Jane and Pepper were already there, Pepper staring at her phone with deliberate laser focus and Jane chewing on a fingernail. She jumped when Darcy came in, scowling at the windowless walls as the heavy door slammed shut with an ominous clank.

            Lately, she’d been doing a lot of thinking about the world she had found herself in; trying to wrap her mind around all of it being real, seated firmly in reality, a reality she’d barely scratched the surface of for most of her life. She’d been quietly struggling with a soft, mild form of anxiety, mostly concerning the safety blanket she’d come to view as her life with Bucky. She’d been recently changed into a different version of herself, a softer, milder, more contemplative version, a girl who believed in fate and chance, and wonder and magic, _second chances_ and _happily ever after_.

But those other trite sayings were true, too. What happened _after_ the ever after? And what if you were well on your way, but you never got that far? What if something stopped you, got in your way, cut the tale short?

What if the prince had been corralled by the evil witch and _hadn’t_ made it to give that waking kiss?

What if Romeo had just up and _left_ Juliet before all that crap had gone down, just thrown his hands up and declared it was too much drama that he couldn’t handle?

What if Belle had been even a _split_ _second_ too slow and _hadn’t_ kissed the Beast in time? Or the slipper didn’t fit, or Eric didn’t hear Ariel singing, or Jasmine suffocated before Aladdin could get her out of that hourglass, or any of that other nonsense?

What if all the warm, sweet magic you grew up with fizzled into its original tale, and your adult life mimicked the twisted version of reality that those stories had been magicked from?

She remembered being particularly hung up on one of her favorites, in history class, years and years ago, when, _right there_ on the page in front of her was the truth: Pocahontas never fell in love with John Smith. Probably saved his life, sure, but _he’d left_ , sailed back to England. She’d married John Rolfe, and then died— _died_ —of smallpox, _just like that_ , in the middle of her new life, fresh and full of hope, in a new world. It had been years, really, but the twisted story she’d been told had stuck with her, a well-meaning white lie offered to sooth the ache in a child quickly learning what life was truly like, yes, but still an awful truth to cover up.

            So, somehow, she felt it coming the moment the door slammed shut behind her. It was like a rock had dropped into her stomach and grown larger and larger and larger, taking up all the room in her entire body until she was just dead weight on the chair where she sat, staring at the footage being live cast from the morning news on the lone piece of visible tech in the room, a television mounted on the wall.

            She lost track of the time, watching the drama unfold, HYDRA agents vs. SHEILD, everyone in black and entirely indistinguishable as they grappled, here, and there, and everywhere, taking up the entire screen.

            Jane was still fidgeting nervously. Pepper was tapping away viciously on her phone. Darcy waited, that heavy feeling settling deep in her gut. She waited.

            They were cleaning up now. There were government helicopters, cops, suits, more agents in black. Steve went across the camera a few times, followed rapidly by Natasha, both of them looking grim.

            She flinched.

            She had no idea how long they sat there, and she had no desire to dig in her purse for her phone. She couldn’t even move.

            Jane sat jiggling her leg and was so nervous she didn’t even speak. Pepper did the same, watching, eagle-eyed in terror. She’d missed her chance once to say a potential goodbye; she wasn’t ever going to do it again.

            The door opened.

            Jane went running out, straight past Steve, to Thor, who stood waiting for her at the end of the hall. But his smile was bittersweet. Darcy could see him from her place, frozen and stubborn on the bench.

            Pepper followed her out, already talking to Tony on her phone.

            Steve just stood there, looking at her, his face slack in uncertainty.

            Natasha flanked him, watching Darcy with a look that spoke volumes.

            Darcy remained stubbornly in place. “How bad is it?”

_You just make sure you come back to me, Soldier Boy. You got that? Or I will never forgive you! I will be super pissed at you, dude!_

_Fucking jinx._

Famous. Last. Words.

She felt it coming before Steve even answered.

            “Don’t know,” he said, flatly, finally looking up at her. “He’s gone.”           


	3. First Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Darcy wallows. A lot. Then she wallows some more. Oh, and there's some arguing. And more wallowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR feels in this one guys. Like, seriously. Darcy is not doing so well. Just warnin' ya.

She stared for a moment. “Gone,” she repeated, dumbly.

            He nodded. “The smoke cleared and everyone was there but him.”

            Natasha nodded. “There were more than we anticipated. He was right; they’ve got a lot of agents in the area. There’s no trace of him. Tony’s pinging his tracker no—”

            “I’m done.” Tony was already coming down the hallway, clanking, still in his armor, and Darcy was vaguely surprised he’d done anything before taking it off. But his face was grim. “Nothing.”

            Steve stared. “What do you mean, _nothing_?!” Anger, clear in his voice as a scowl took his face. “What, suddenly _all_ Stark tech stops working? I thought you—!”

            Natasha pressed a hand to his chest. “Steve.”

            He stopped, glancing down at her.

            She held his gaze steady. “It’s not Tony’s fault. Bucky’s in the wind. He’s good at that. You _know_ he is. Just…let’s rest and regroup.” She glanced up and down the hall, then stopped on Darcy’s still form, numb, still sitting on her bench. “Okay?”

            Darcy finally stood, leaving the television on, and walked past Steve numbly, past Natasha, who murmured something to her husband, and down the hall, barely paying attention to where she was going.

            Finally, halfway down, the expression on everyone’s faces—mirrors of each other—came into sharp focus. She took a breath, and picked up the pace. There was no sense to be shuffling about like a zombie.

            When she reached Jane, the smaller woman’s face changed as she clung to Thor. “ _Darcy_ —”

            “Don’t.” Darcy held out a hand, stopping her, and gave her a stern look. “ _Don’t_ , Jane.”

            Thor tried. “Lady Dar—”

            “I love ya, big guy, but none of that Shakespearean crap right now, okay?” She spun on her heel to find everyone stretching the length of the hallway, all of them watching her with that same awful expression. “That goes for _all_ of you. This is not _Pride and Prejudice_ , Darcy is not going to swoon like a _southern belle_. I need everyone to _go back to their shit_.”

            They all stood and stared at her.

            Never one for nonsense, she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her hip. “ _Go_! Seriously. HYDRA just got the jump on us, there’s shit to do. Am I the wrangler, or not?! Everyone _move_!”

            They all jumped into action, going this way and that, already pulling off their combat gear and assessing their ammo stores. Tony went into his shop and got up on the platform, and his machinery began pulling off the pieces of his suit while Pepper hovered around, watching with a pinched expression. He looked up and saw her in the doorway. “I’m gonna find him, Darce. I will.”

            She nodded, watching the goings-on, numbness still sliding around as it occurred to her just what this could mean. “I know.” And she heard the dazed shock in her own voice.

            Pepper came over, her arms open and her expression full of sympathy, like all of this was a foregone conclusion.

            But Darcy stopped her, too. “ _Pepper_.”

            The one word stopped her in her tracks, and they stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Then she nodded, and drifted off again, going over to the platform and hitting a few buttons on the display.

            “Get outta here, kid,” Tony suddenly said.

            She could never read the expression on Tony’s face at moments like this, could never tell just what the veneered inventor was thinking. “What do you mean?” She sat down at her desk in the corner, where she usually typed up her reports.

            He gestured with his head as JARVIS pulled off the last of the armor around his thigh. “Go on. Get. No point to you moping around here all day. I can get by without you if you wanna go on back home.”

            _Home_.

            Where it was _empty_ and _silent_.

            She stood there for a moment, turning that idea over in her head.

            But nothing happened.

            “What do you need me to do, Tony?” she asked instead.

            He looked up at her sternly for a moment, like he wanted to argue, but when he saw her expression, something in him softened, and he sagged a little in a rare show of defeat, hesitated just a moment, and then nodded. “Uh. Alright. Just, uh…Just work on those notes from yesterday’s…debrief, I guess.”

            Pepper frowned, communicating with him silently for a moment before she spoke. “Tony, do you _really_ think that’s the best—”

            “ _Let her work_.” His tone was clear and hard, brooking no argument.

            Pepper sighed, then nodded. After an hour, she drifted off, kissing Tony before ducking out, talking to someone on her Starkphone.

            Tony busied himself at one of his computer hubs, monitors bright all around him as he typed and clicked, presumably hacking and breaking in, muttering to himself, eyes darting around. He made one phone call that went very quickly and was very tense, though Darcy could tell he tried to keep his voice down.

            “Yeah, I’m trying to access—” He scowled, then rolled his eyes. “Stark, Anthony E. Yes. _Yes_ , I’ve done this plenty of times before. You might’ve heard of me, bit of a tech genius. Don’t— _don’t_ tell me that’s not how it works when I know how _everything_ works.”

            He glanced quickly at her, then away, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “No. _No_. No, that’s _not_ what I need, what I _need_ is— _Oh, my God, why are you being such a bitch_?”

            Darcy cocked a brow and tried hard not to listen, not that it proved easy.

            “I’m perfectly _aware_ of how NORAD works, Mr.—? Phelps, thank you. Well, _Mr. Phelps_ , see, half that tech was _designed by me_ , so—”

            Darcy bit her lip. Good God, she didn’t want anyone making their day worse with this.

            Tony was clenching his jaw. “Listen, _punk_ , I don’t need some _Yale graduate twerp_ to tell me how my own product works— _Just_ —” He took a deep breath. “Just put in these routing numbers. _Just do it_ , I don’t _care_ what you have to do—39.42.26.7. Yes. Yes, I’m perfectly aware that what I’m giving you is a set for an ID for a tracker, who do you think programmed it?” He shot out of his seat, voice rising. “Are you _implying_ I’m looking for stolen tech— _yeah, you bet your ass it’s_ stolen tech _, I can tell you just how_ stolen _he’s been, more than enough times to count_.” He sat stiffly back down.

            For a long moment, he just sat in his chair, rigid, one leg bouncing, his jaw tight and his eyes fixed on anything but her.

            Finally, he straightened. “Yeah, still here. Have you got— _what_?” His face paled. “What do you mean _it’s not there_? Not _where_? Like, it’s been _removed_?!” He stood there, blinking, his brain nearly visibly turning, turning, turning. Then he sighed again and pressed his hand to his face. “Okay. Yeah, thanks, you were a _great_ help, punk.”

            He lowered the phone.

            Darcy focused as hard as she could on her typing. Steve said this, then Clint said that, then Maria—

            “I’m sorry, Short Stack.”

            She flinched at his soft, disappointed tone. He was quickly becoming like the warm, quirky uncle she’d never had, vaguely fatherly in his affection, more parental than her own distracted, divorced parents.

            “I don’t know what else to do.”

            Unable to fake it any longer, she stopped and looked up at him.

            He was staring at her, his eyes sad. “He’s uh…he’s _totally_ in the wind.”

            For a moment, she held his gaze. Then she nodded, and went back to work.

            He rubbed at the back of his neck, as though completely out of his element. “Um…was he…acting _normal_? The past few days?”

            She nodded. “Good. Better. Loose, relaxed.”

            He nodded. “Any weird nightmares? Strange habits?”

            She shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing that I _know_ of. I mean…” She sighed, something in her beginning to gnaw, but she shoved it stubbornly aside. She could do that _later_. “I mean, he was an _assassin_ , so I won’t pretend that he wasn’t a good liar on some level, but…I like to think I’d have noticed anything out of the ordinary, or that he’d tell me if something was wrong. He’s been very…open. With me. _Always_. I mean, we _live_ together, after all, I think I would’ve noticed.”

            Just then a random agent came in, a total suit, all regulation, and he ducked in like nothing was wrong. “Team just finished the perimeter sweep, Sir. No bodies.”

            She flinched—hard—and Tony lunged over to the doorway. “ _Get. Out_.”

            They pushed into the hallway, but Darcy had always had fantastic hearing.

            “Sir?”

            “For God’s _sake_ , kid!”

            “ _Sir_?”

            Tony sighed heavily.

            “The vicinity is clear, Sir. No bodies were recovered, and all prisoners are secure below, just as Captain Rogers insisted. Choppers checked the surrounding two streets in the area, as well. No sign of anyone, SHIELD or otherwise.”

            “Yeah, fine. Didn’t actually think that would turn up anything. Long shot. Kid’s too smart for that. Thanks.” He drifted back in. On what looked like a whim, he picked up a rag and his wrench, ducking under his drone again, but only a moment or two went by before it began sparking and he snarled, reappearing and throwing the rag roughly to the floor.

            Darcy winced, unsure how to feel about his obvious emotional distress. She was desperate to know what had happened out there, but wasn’t sure she wanted to ask.

            Tony threw himself down in a rolling chair and scooted over, and he sat there, sulking and watching her for a while, thoughtful. “You’re a little like me, you know that, Short Stack?”

            She paused, wondering why on earth he seemed to have settled on that nickname when she probably had a good three inches on tiny Jane. “Oh, yeah?”

            He nodded. “Yep. You’d rather bury yourself in work than face anything shitty.”

            She looked down into her lap, then flinched away as her ring caught the light. “Mm.”

            “Everyone else is moping around downstairs, Steve’s destroying more of my boxing bags. But _here you sit_ , like nothing happened, typing away while I fuss, and _you can’t fool me_ , darlin’.”

            She swallowed. “Oh, no?”

            He patted her thigh. “The numbness is gonna wear off. _Soon_. I want you upstairs and tucked safely away when it does. Hear me? Take it from someone who’s been there. You don’t need an audience.”

            She bit her lip, staring at her glowing monitor.

            “You got a little time yet. But when I say, ‘Go’, I want you to _go_ , _no arguments_. Got it?”

            She swallowed again, and nodded, silent.

            Bruce came in, took one look at them, and quietly ducked back out again, his eyes holding on her for a long moment before he left.

            Tony sat and watched her work, making odd comments here or there, remarking on her organization of his files on her computer, and approving the accompanying style of her remodeled file drawers that she’d finally gotten to straightening up.

            Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She turned in her chair and looked at him. “Tony. What happened out there?”

            For a long, long moment, his chocolate eyes were warm as they studied her. But then he stood and approached, got down in her face, and studied her some more. And he nodded. “Go.”

            She jerked. “What— _now_?”

            He nodded, already walking away. “ _Tomorrow_ , we’ll talk. Go, _now_.”

            She stood. “ _But_ —”

            “ _You promised_ ,” he reminded her, stern and soft somehow at the same time.

            “ _Yeah_ , but, Tony—”

            His voice softened further and there was an old, old melancholy in his eyes. “I’m _serious_ , kid. _Trust_ me. I’ll find you tomorrow. _Go_.”

            So she went, JARVIS already knowing where she’d be heading to in the elevator, given the hour, and she had flashed her badge and dropped her purse on the couch before she even really realized she’d moved much.

            For a full ten minutes she stood there in the entryway, staring around at things the way they’d left them the night before, what felt like an eternity ago.

            The blanket still on the couch.       

            Dishes drying on the counter.

            _To Kill a Mockingbird_ on the coffee table, her volume of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , tossed on the far cushion, beside the TV remote. Her iPod and headphones. Her huge, three-sizes-too-big David Bowie t-shirt she’d been lounging in that he’d peeled off, his mouth warm on her clavicle, his hands on her shoulder blades, pressing her closer over him.

            She flinched— _again_ —and sighed. Tony was right, _damn it_ , it was welling up, she could feel it, twisting painfully in her throat.     

            She went over the freezer and opened it, pulling out the bottle of vodka she kept stashed there for those long ops she spent alone, or for when it was her turn for girl’s night, letting it fall shut behind her as she unscrewed the top. She pulled open the cabinet and took out the lone shot glass she kept up there, setting it down on the counter with a clank in the silence.

            Trying not to think, she topped off a shot and threw it back, then rapidly chased it with another, _desperate_ to avoid the building ache.

            She stood leaning on the counter, wincing at the clean burn of good alcohol, gasping for breath at the sting as it carved a path down her throat. But the gasping didn’t stop, even after the sensation had faded.

            He was gone.

            She couldn’t avoid the thought, not anymore, she didn’t have the strength, not standing in their empty home.

            She stood there, holding herself up, panting for air, her eyes stinging in betrayal.

            He was _gone_. Dead—or _worse_. Because _anything_ having to do with HYDRA was _worse_ , _especially for him._

_He was gone._

            _God damn Tony Stark_.

            She fell apart in spectacular fashion, harder than she’d ever fallen apart before. She shook to pieces all folded up on the kitchen floor, shattering into wracking, ridiculous sobs that wouldn’t stop no matter how she tried.

            She hadn’t cried like this since her parents’ divorce, and her mother callously stating that she didn’t think she’d be able to see her baby girl real much anymore, and she’d rolled her luggage bag out of the house, and disappeared from her life.

            She hadn’t cried so hard since Grommet, her pug, had died, _ten years ago_. She hadn’t cried like this since Daniel had _punched_ her.

            She let it come, let it saturate her, let it all drain out, taking her energy and calm with it, and left her a shivering, shaking mess on the tile. She let the wave take her, unable to hold it at bay, and rode it out.

            _God damn Tony Stark_.

            For one _horrible, bittersweet_ moment, she considered the idea that he was probably watching her now on one of his security cameras, a rule she knew he stuck by unless he was seriously concerned for someone’s personal well-being. And for one _horrible, bittersweet_ moment, she realized she wasn’t angry at the breach in her privacy, but wished he’d just come in already and hold her so tightly she’d _stay in one piece_.

            But she slowly collected herself and stood, replaced the vodka in the freezer, rinsed the shot glass and left it to dry, and got in the shower.

            She stood under a scalding spray for ten minutes before she really felt it, saw it reddening her pale skin, and turned it down. She washed and got out, sliding on her David Bowie t-shirt again over her underwear and carrying her purse into the bedroom to sling it over the door where she usually left it.

            It was early. Dinner hour, not that she was hungry. But she was exhausted, and knew she’d _never_ be able to focus on any files Tony had given her—days ago—or do much of anything. For a while, she sat in the armchair by the window and stared out at the skyline, rapidly darkening and getting replaced here and there by streetlights, lamps clicking on in neighboring towers, office complexes and high rises.

            Her phone chimed on the coffee table and she read a text from Jane: _“You okay? You need anything? I’m worried about you.”_

            But she cleared it and set it aside unanswered, and got up, admitting defeat and ready to call it quits as she shuffled down the hall.

            She wasted another five minutes staring at the unmade bed, rumpled from the night before and much, _much_ too big. A _sea_.

            He’d been particularly sweet and tender the last night, soft and not at all the way she’d ever expected a soldier to be. He was such a juxtaposition, and he’d pulled her apart and teased threads out of her that she hadn’t even known she possessed. She’d always been the ‘sex is great’ sort of girl, quick to scoff at romance, especially when she’d been in college and preoccupied with getting as much raucous partying out of it as she could. _Not anymore_.

And she hadn’t even put up a fight, rebelled, scoffed or rolled her eyes. And he could be smooth and quick when he wanted. Sometimes, when she insisted he wouldn’t hurt her, that her day had been awful and she just wanted a distraction, he could be rough and hard and leave her deliciously sore. But it wasn’t how he usually was. He melted her every chance he got, all the way down to a _puddle_ , and he relished it, she could tell. She wondered if he’d been that way before or if everything that had happened had somehow changed other parts of him. Had he _really_ been a bit of a _dog_ , or…?

            She knew she’d regret getting in that bed alone. But…she was stubborn, always had been, probably more so since that episode with her mother.

            Shrugging, she crawled in anyway.

            She tossed and turned. All night. And she was fucking _freezing_. _All night_.

 

            When she woke groggy from what felt like a half hour’s worth of sleep the next morning, she scowled at the clock. 8:07. She groaned and got up, getting dressed for a day in Tony’s shop, black pencil slacks that weren’t too nice to get dirty in case he needed help, a striped Henley that she knew she probably reached for first because she knew Bucky liked it, and a pair of her flats with a stiletto style toe.

            She slid on her glasses, then her coat, and went out, down the elevator, past the cleaning crew working on the façade of the building, mostly cleaning up simple dust and mortar—there was no real visible damage, considering HYDRA had been trying to get in—and down to street level.    

            In the nearest Starbucks, she ordered a venti of her favorite, added too much cream, a dash of vanilla and took her time coming back, glancing in a shop window at her reflection to see if it was obvious she’d been crying and hadn’t slept to boot. Not too bad, just a slightly pale complexion. She’d always been gifted with a distinct lack of puffiness. She did look washed out, though. She could tell that much.

            And even though she took her time going back to the Tower, it was just nine when she disembarked the elevator and crossed toward the conference room.

            But she found herself blocked by a large body—appearing to be male in type—standing in the doorway.

            She looked up, then _up some more_ , to find Steve—a bit sallow-skinned himself—scowling down at her. “I thought you might show up,” was all he said, his voice uncharacteristically grim.

            She sighed. “Steve. This is ridiculous.”

            “ _No_ ,” he shot back. “What’s ridiculous is you actually _showing up_ for a debriefing— _now_.”

            “ _You’re_ here,” she pointed out, gesturing and rolling her eyes.

            “Yeah, because I _have_ to be. Why are _you_ here?”

            She gave him a flat look. “Is this not my _job_?”

            “I think it can wait, Darcy. The world won’t end because you weren’t here to take notes or keep us in line.”

            She squared off. “ _Listen_ , Steve. He said you were stubborn, but you ain’t seen _nothin’_ from me if you want _stubbornness_ —”

            “Let her in, Steve.”

            Steve spun, face slack in surprise.

            Natasha spoke so quietly sometimes that people missed her—which she often, of course, used to her advantage. She faced him off gently in the hallway. “It’s her choice, Rogers.”

            Darcy didn’t give him a chance to disagree and went charging past him, elbowing his big male form out of her way and glad that she’d seemed to suddenly grow a new female relationship—

            And met more of the same inside the actual room.       

            Tony hadn’t arrived yet, but everyone else certainly had. And they were all staring at her. And they all began talking _at once_.

            “Darcy, you never texted me back! Do you have _any_ idea how worried I’ve been?! And JARVIS said you were _out_ already?! Do you even know how _dangerous_ that is?!” Jane.

            “You should go home, Darcy, we can get by without you for a day.” Clint.

            “We’re doing everything we can. Just _calm_ _down_.” Maria.

            “ _Go home_ , Darcy.” Steve.

            She finally lost it, and slammed her files down on the conference table—hard—and stood staring at everyone in the ensuing ringing silence. “Everyone _shut up_!” she snapped.

            But there it was again, tugging painfully at her throat.

            “I have a job to do,” she managed, her voice even and stern. “Life does not stop here at SHIELD. If _anyone_ has learned that in the past two years, running from _Destroyers_ and _Space Elves_ , it’s _me_. I need _everyone_ to go about their normal lives and let me go about mine. It is _no one’s_ decision where I go during the day, nor is it anyone’s right to insist I do one thing over another. I know. What is good. For _myself_.”

            A shadow loomed behind her, but she ignored it, even as the ache crept up and moisture came gently into her eyes. She kept the tears stubbornly at bay, even as her voice wobbled, effectively giving the game away. “I. Cannot. Sit in that empty apartment. _Alone_.” She looked at them each in turn. “ _Does everyone understand me_?”

            They all looked awkwardly down at the table or at each other.

            Sam was nodding from the other end as though to say, ‘ _You go, girl’_ , even with his feet propped back up on the table.

            She continued, swallowing past the awful pain. “I need everyone to stop treating me like a _glass vase_. Is that clear?”

            There was vague murmured assent.

            “Thank you.”

            “Nobody gives Lewis a hard time,” Tony suddenly spoke from behind her, his voice uncharacteristically stern. “She does more for us than you guys realize. She wants to work, let her work. She’s a big girl.”

            “Thank you, Tony,” she sighed, then swallowed again, squared her shoulders, and took her seat offset from the head of the table, where Tony then planted himself, and began.

            Tony shuffled his papers, and eyed them all in a strange display of seniority. Then he cleared his throat. “Alright. Anybody got any _good_ news?”

            No one spoke.

            “Any news…at all? Any ideas?”

            Darcy spoke up, her voice low. “He was obviously their primary objective.”

            Steve turned to stare at her with a scowl, but it was completely lacking in venom.

            “The damage done to the façade of the building is completely superficial. The smoke must’ve originated elsewhere or been from something completely unrelated.”

            “You think they were trying to draw us out?” Steve clarified. “Even after we determined that we’d have to do the same with them?”

            She shrugged. “No one was hurt, there was barely any combat, from what I can tell. _No one will tell me anything_.” She eyed Tony.

            To her surprise, it was Sam who spoke, leaning forward over the table. “There wasn’t much. Tony tried to determine where they were trying to get in while the three of us held ‘em off. Plus Natasha, working her magic. It was easy pickin’s, actually, and I thought it was pretty weird. But then one of ‘em had one of those flamethrowers and we all dove outta the way. The smoke cleared and everybody was in one piece—but Buck was gone. You’re right, Darce. It sure looks suspicious.”

            Maria sighed, looking annoyed. “Alright, so let’s _assume_ they want their asset back.”

            Darcy tried to hide her flinch at the term, but Steve saw it anyway, and his hand came across to take hers in her lap, and his large hand squeezed comfortingly around hers. She glanced over and found that his face had changed, the scowl slipping to reveal a look of worried sadness, and his eyes were soft and warm as he offered her a small smile. _At least we’re in this together_ , it seemed to say.

            “Let’s just _assume_.” Maria shuffled her paperwork. “What’s the goal, in that objective? Just to regain an _assassin_? Seems like an awful lot of work just to get one assassin back.”             Clint held up a finger. “World’s _deadliest_ assassin. Don’t forget that part.”

            Natasha spoke, staring down at the table. “At _least_ two dozen people since the start of the Cold War. He was…he _really_ _was_ like a ghost.” Finally she looked up, turning a fairly stern look across the table at Maria. “He was an _expensive_ and _valuable_ creation. They’d want that back if it meant getting back to their agenda.”

            Maria shrugged. “But why _now_? That doesn’t make any sense. Why wait until now—why wait until New Year’s and then send everyone out in force to try and bring him back in?”

            Steve frowned. “That all depends _on_ their agenda.”

            “Do we have any idea what that might be?” Clint asked in an attempt at furthering the conversation. “Or any way to determine where they’ve gone to ground? If they have this many agents just in the Manhattan area, we’re fighting a losing battle before we’ve ever started.”

            No one spoke.

            Finally, Maria sighed. “I’m not sure about this, guys. Are we sure there isn’t something else going on, here?”

            Tony ignored her and sat forward. “What about those files you found on the Romanian cargo ship? Anything to go on there?”

            Steve shrugged, sighing and leaning forward to rest his head in a hand. “I got nothing. None of it makes any sense.”

            Nat spoke up again, face pinched in concentration. “We’re still booked to fly out. We can still talk to von Strucker, maybe just change our agenda a bit, see if he has anything to say that might stick a pin in all this somewhere?”

            Tony sat back and sighed a deep breath. “I can keep trying the tracker, see if a miracle happens. I think I finally intimidated the kid at NORAD.”

            “I could go out on foot, do some recon?” Sam offered.

            Maria scowled at him.

            Tony stood. “Well. I guess it’s something. Regroup in the morning?”

            They split up.

            Maria brushed past her with a soft push to her shoulder, and Darcy paused, staring after her confusedly, before Tony distracted her.

            “Come on, Short Stack, we got work to do.”

            She smirked as she followed him into the shop. “Where do you come up with these names, Tony?”

            He shrugged, grinning impishly as he went over to his desk. “You’re short. You’re stacked. You make killer pancakes on Sundays in the common room. Staring me in the face, really.”

            She shook her head ruefully. “I’m taller than _Jane_.”

            He shrugged again. “Yeah, but I don’t work with Foster real much.”

            She sighed and rolled her eyes.

            “Hand me that wrench.”

            And so went their day. Tony went in and out from under the dreaded Drone 13, they battled, Tony finally took it apart entirely to get at the problem, and he spent every hour or two bickering on the phone with the ‘Yale twerp’ at NORAD, not that it did any good at locating Bucky’s suspiciously silent tracker.

            Darcy was up and down during her tasks, handing him this, handing him that, and laughing as he lobbed insults at the machinery around him. DUM-E was threatened twice more and by the time four o’clock rolled around, Tony was fairly covered in automotive grease.

            “Go on home, Lewis. I’ll see you in the morning.”

            She looked up, surprised so long had passed. “But it’s still early.”

            “You look like you’re gonna pass out,” he said, gesturing toward the door and the elevator beyond. “Go on.”

            She sighed. “Tony.”

            But he surprised her by crossing the room in a few long strides, and he wrapped his hands around her arms and tugged her close to his face. “I feel like you keep forgetting that I’m _trying to take care of you_ , since I seem to be the only one who understands— _at the moment_ , anyway—how your head works.” He blinked at her.

Stunned, she blinked back.

“Like I said: you’re a lot like me. You haven’t _slept_. You haven’t _eaten_. In the last twenty-four hours, you’ve had, I’m guessing, a few shots of hard liquor and _way_ too much coffee. You keep forgetting that I know how this works, kid. _Go. Home_. _Don’t_ go in the bedroom. _Don’t_ get drunk. Do not pass ‘go’, do not collect $200. Just pass out in front of the television. I’ll see you in the morning. Whenever you decide to show is fine. I’ll even give you a _raise_. Now, _go_.”

            She swallowed, and nodded, staring into his warm eyes, wanting to say something but unable to open her mouth. God, he was like a father, except he didn’t insist on a curfew and accepted all her crazy without complaint. She wanted to cry all over again.

            He gave her a sad smile. “I know, kid.” He pulled her in for a short, but tight hug, and shoved her forcibly out the door.

            She reheated the Chinese they’d left the other night and forced it down while she watched a few episodes of _Remington Steele_ , but it was even less engaging than it would’ve been when she realized during each one that she remembered who the killer was.

            She poured herself half a glass of wine and sat and watched them anyway, numb and tingling with an awful, damnable _uncertainty_.

            She couldn’t decide if she’d feel worse if he were captured or… _dead_.

            She could barely think the word, and she swallowed it back again, then again, shutting her eyes and attempting to keep the ache at bay rather than fall apart again. Continuing to do so would get nothing done, besides make her feel worse. So what was the _point_?

            She knew he’d rather _die_ than be their tool again, rather die than be responsible for anymore death, no matter the capacity.

            But if he was dead…

            She swallowed it back again, stubbornly.

            There would be no way to retrieve him.

            She glanced down at the ring on her hand; she’d taken to fidgeting with it when she was nervous, twisting it this way and that on her finger. And suddenly, she couldn’t bear to wear it another second.

            She pulled it off and set it on the coffee table.

            But that felt worse, like a foregone conclusion or a betrayal of him.

            God, it was _huge_. If he tried to get her another one for their actual marriage, she was flat-out refusing. What could possibly replace that ring?

            Marriage.

            Oh, _God_ , she was _engaged_.

            Like, _soon to be married_ , engaged.

            _Married_.

            _Wife_. What a foreign word.

            She was someone’s _fiancé_. A _missing_ fiancé.

            She’d never been the type of girl to think about those things when she was a child, never been one for daydreaming and romantic visions. No white. No flowers. No prince on horseback.

            But _that ring_.

            How he’d managed to choose such a perfect, stunning example of a fantasy of hers she _hadn’t even been aware she possessed_ , was beyond her. How he’d even managed to burrow past her thick defenses and into the cavity of her heart, she was equally stumped by.

            But _that ring_.

            It was _flawless_.

            She picked it back up and went into the bedroom, rooted around for a moment in her jewelry box and plucked out a necklace. She unclasped it, pulled off the charm on the chain and slid the ring on instead. Then she settled it around her neck, closing the clasp with a short gasp that she immediately bit back. She tucked it into the collar of her shirt, hiding it against her heart, trapping it there.

            She turned and stared at the bed again, unmade from her awful night before. She sighed. No way in hell was she sleeping there again, not alone. She couldn’t bare it. It was too big, and too cold, and too—

            She marched back out again—

            Just in time to hear the soft knock on the door.

            Frowning, the rejection already balanced on her tongue, she crossed and opened the door.

            “ _Steve_?” she said, dumbly, surprised and confused.

            He filled the entire shape of the door with his broad frame. All in all, he really wasn’t particularly tall, but Steve Rogers was _broad_ , and he gave off the image of being much bigger than he was.

            He was out of his gear, and was wearing just a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt that was just snug enough to show off his physique. He was looking down, awkwardly, like he was warring with himself about whether or not coming had been a bad idea. He flinched up, then flinched again when his eyes met her face and she wondered how gaunt and deep-eyed she looked. “Darce.”

            “Yeah?”

            And in one little tick, he was sliding over the threshold and wrapping his arms around her, tight, enveloping her in a hard, warm embrace against his chest, and she listened to his heartbeat in her ear for a moment as he breathed against her. “ _Darce_.”

            She let him cocoon her, her hands trapped up against his chest. “Mm.” It felt good. It felt so good, and warm, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep the tears from aching up and out, tracking silently down her face.

            “I _just_ got him back, Darce,” he murmured against her hair.

            “…I know.” She mentally cursed her ragged voice.

            God, this wasn’t _her_ , this wasn’t _Darcy_. She wasn’t a lovesick _girl_ , she wasn’t some lame chick, some damsel that cried and stomped her feet and went totally idiotic over a _guy_.

            But here she was. She thought again of Bruce’s words from the other day, about being made into someone new.

            “Where’s Nat?” she asked.

            He didn’t pull away. In fact, he did the opposite, tightening his arms around her and rocking her gently, and she knew the embrace wasn’t just for her. “Upstairs. We’re getting on a flight in the morning, so we’re staying in our old suite.”

            She nodded against his chest.

            “Come upstairs,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

            She tugged, then, and he let her go. “Steve, I…I’d rather.” She wiped roughly at her cheeks.

            His face was so pale and sad, but he nodded.

            “I’ll be lousy company right now. Besides, I think I’m just…gonna turn out the lights and sleep out here.”

            He frowned. “Out _here_? On the _couch_?”

            She nodded.

            “But—”

            “I can’t…sleep in the bed…alone,” she finally managed, her voice fading. “I can’t.”

            For a long moment, he watched her. Then he nodded. “I’ll stay with you.”

            She sighed. He always did this; acted like he didn’t matter, like everyone else’s needs came first. They’d been fast friends after she’d started working here with Jane. That had been before he’d married Natasha, back when the spy still scared the pants off of her. She still wasn’t sure, looking back, how all of that had…happened.

            She’d made the first move with Steve, of course. It hadn’t been long after the whole New York mess, and he’d been lonely at the Tower, and Darcy had noticed him wandering around, bored, poking around the labs for something to do.

            They’d quickly struck up a quirky friendship—nothing romantic, of course, because he’d been in such a fragile state—but she had helped him acclimate to modern culture. She’d pretty much forced him, like it or not, to sit on her apartment’s cheap couch with her every Friday night and watch TV shows or movies. She’d walked him through using his Starkphone, using an iPod, the microwave and the computer, all things that no one had been smart enough to remember to teach him when it came to someone from the forties.

            Slowly, but surely, he’d opened up to her, and Jane had marveled at what on earth Darcy had done. She’d just shrugged and said she’d shown some empathy. And never attached any strings. He wasn’t Captain America _all_ the time, for God’s sake, he was just _Steve Rogers_. And he was _lonely_.

            She’d learned about Peggy and Bucky before she’d ever really gotten to know much more about SHIELD, really.

            And then, _that_ whole fiasco, and she and Jane had been summoned to the Triskelion in the hopes that they could piece together the puzzle with Hill, and Darcy had hacked numerous computers in the building and rooted out proof that SHIELD had rats aboard ship. She’d been proud, that her work had helped weed out over fifty remaining agents in those next few months.

            She’d watched that helicopter circle, watched Sam jump out that window, had stood outside Steve’s room and counted all the tubes and wires he’d been connected to.

            And then Natasha had stepped in. Which was _good_ , fine with her, there had been no such inclination on her part, really. He was like the big, goofy older brother she’d never had. But sometimes, with them living outside the Tower, she did miss his presence hanging around.

            But then…then Steve had found _him_ and everything had changed. All in the amount of time it took her to roll her eyes at Tony, walk into that lab, plop down on a stool, and say _hello_.

            Numerous times, after Bucky’s return, she’d had to try and find a kind and subtle way of shooing Steve off; could tell it made Bucky tense. If she’d had a dollar for every time he’d shown up while they were watching something on his couch, with her trying to resist the urge to crawl into his lap, she’d have paid off her college loans by now.

            He stepped into the suite.

            “Steve…” She hesitated. “You should go home to Nat.”

            He shook his head. “She agreed that I should come down.”

            She gave him a look. “I’m a big—”

            “I _know_.” He was already nodding. “I know. And I was a jerk earlier at the debrief. And I’m sorry. I’ve been…on edge, ever since, and I’ll admit that I feel...a little protective of you, like how it used to be. But…you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll stay with you, just for a little while.” He came in all the way, effectively shutting down her argument. “What are you watching? Oh, _Remington Steele_ —hey, I remember this one—it’s the insurance salesman, in Acapulco, right? And he’s not really an insurance salesman and they’re runnin’ diamonds, or something? This is a good one.” He dropped weightlessly down on the couch and pushed the blanket aside, smirking. “ _God_ , Buck used to leave his ma’s blankets lyin’ around, all the time, drove her _nuts_. She’d get so angry at it, she’d follow him around, folding everything up again. She was such a neat freak.”

            She was still standing in the doorway, and his words stung. She wanted to ask about Bucky’s family, but…that wasn’t anyone else’s story to tell. She crossed her arms over her chest, uncomfortable and cold.

            He turned his head, saw her, and his face softened further. “C’mon.” He gestured with his head and reached out a hand over the back of the couch. “Just like old times.”

            She bit her lip, not sure if it was a good idea to leave her safe, lonely cocoon.

            He didn’t move. “You look cold. C’mere.”

            With a huff, she went around the couch and slid in beside him, curling into his side and snuggling against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, tucking her into his warmth, and used the other to pull the blanket up around her.

            For a few moments, she continued to shiver as they watched Pierce Brosnan run an obstacle course around a Mexican hotel. Gradually, the trembling stopped, little by little, until she was yawning instead, and Steve’s hand, running up and down her arm was lulling her more than she cared to admit.

            “C’mon. Put your head down,” he offered, shifting so his lap was clear.

            “ _Steve_ —”

            “Would you stop arguing? He was right; you _are_ really stubborn. Dunno how he got you to do most things.”

            She smirked and was surprised at herself. “He’s got the magic touch.”

            He snorted, but pushed gently until she relented to laying down on the couch, curled up, with her head in his lap.         

            She was out before she had a chance to say anything else.

 

            When she woke the next morning, it was to find that Steve was gone—likely on his way to LaGuardia—and she was alone again. Groggy, she sat up and looked around. She was twisted in the blanket, her phone was on the floor. There was no sign that Steve had ever been, but it was clear someone had carefully tucked her in and turned off the TV and DVD player, and turned the drapes to block most of the morning’s light.

            Yawning, she dragged herself up and turned to find it was already after nine. For a moment, she panicked, knowing she was likely missing the debrief, but then she shrugged to herself. Tony had told her to come in whenever. And she needed coffee. _Bad_.

            She repeated her routine from the day before, getting up, quickly showering, getting dressed without looking at the bed, putting on the barest makeup she could get away with, and out, heading for the nearest Starbucks. Tony’s voice in the back of her head, she only ordered a grandé this time and took her time enjoying the walk back. It was a frigid February morning, but it was clear and sunny, and there were kids playing in the corner park as she walked by. True, she had _zero_ maternal instinct, but it was nice to see that some things never changed.

            She took the elevator up, JARVIS offered a friendly hello, and she went down the hallway, leaving her coat in the apartment before going back to the conference room.

            “…I’m _just saying_ , it looks… _suspicious_ ,” Maria was saying, her voice tight.

            Darcy paused in the hall, listening.

            “…I _can’t_ be the only one that thinks that…?”

            No one spoke.

            “…And apparently, I _am_. Okay, then.” There was shuffling and ruffling, the squeak of a moving rolling chair. “I’ll just _get out of the way_ , then.”

            “Maria…!” Sam called.

            She came huffing out of the room, nearly bumping into Darcy. And she didn’t stop to say anything, apologize, or even look annoyed. She just trekked it down the hall, and was gone.

            Darcy frowned, watching her friend’s retreating back, thought better of it as the noise after her departure did not pick up, and went instead to wait in Tony’s shop.

            He was quiet and contemplative all day, typing away at his terminal before telling her to take off again at her usual time.

            She repeated her routine from the night before and found it only slightly more tolerable.

            But when she woke in the morning, it wasn’t to the sun cutting lines through the drapes. It was to a disconcerting knocking on the door, quick and impatient. “Darcy! Get your ass up! We got something!” Clint. Sounding very… _not happy_.

            She washed, dressed, grabbed her phone and was out and down to the conference room in twenty minutes, barely scraping by as she beat Tony. But everyone looked decidedly grim and the projector was whirring softly as it warmed up.

            Tony came in, quick and no-nonsense. “Alright. Hit me.”

            Maria hit a button and the projector flicked a picture up on the screen of a gentleman with wispy white hair and a bespoke suit, frowning and looking rich and grumpy. “Tchenko, Vladimir A. Weapons contractor for Russia.”

            Tony sighed and pulled a hand down his face, blinking. “ _So_?”

            Maria stood, looking stern. “He’s _missing_.”

            The room tensed up a little.

            So did Darcy. “Uh…okay…?”

            Maria hit another button and up popped a picture of some pavement and an evidence square marked with a number ‘1’. “This was found near the last place he was spotted. It’s a Russian caliber bullet.” Her speech was flat, almost accusatory.

            Darcy flinched, recalling Steve’s description, and was saying it before she realized it. “ _Soviet slug. No rifling_.” Her eyes flicked up to Maria. “Yeah?”

            Maria nodded. “I _knew_ there was something suspicious going on here.” She braced herself on the table and stared at them all.

            But Darcy was focused down in her lap, one hand clutching her ring through the fabric of her top as her mind whirred. She looked up to find Clint watching her, darting a glance down at her left hand on the table, and the screaming strip of pale skin where her ring had sat. His eagle eyes followed the angle of her right arm to her hand around her collar, and their eyes met. She quickly looked away.

            And found Maria staring at her, _hard_.

            “What?” she rasped.

            Maria’s eyes narrowed.

            Subconsciously, Darcy reached up to rub at the back of her head, where a stress headache was quickly looming.

            “Do you want to say anything else about this?”

            “ _Whoa, whoa_ —” Tony started, reaching up a hand, apparently catching on to something she had yet to put together.

            But Maria ignored him, speaking over him. “ _Anything_?”

            Darcy knew her voice would be ragged before she opened her mouth and wished Steve was there, preferably with Natasha. “What are you _talking_ about?”

            She shrugged. “Well, you seem to know a lot about the Winter Soldier’s chosen ammo. Are you seeing a correlation here?”

            Darcy shrugged, her chest constricting. “Just…something Steve said. A long time ago.” God, she sounded awful. “I…I dunno.”

            “Something _Steve_ said or something the _Winter Soldier_ told you?” she pressed.

            “Maria, what the _hell_ are you doing?” Sam asked, quietly, resigned, like he already knew and wished he could stop her.

            Tony sighed loudly and set his elbows on the table, covering his face with his hands.

            “What, precisely, are you implying, Lady Maria?” Thor spoke up, his brow crinkled in confusion.

            Jane was scowling, but was silent.

            “I don’t know, guys.” She shrugged stiffly. “This just all seems a little too _coincidental_ to me.”

            “You mean because there’s no body and it’s _Soviet_ ammo? Gee, what about that is _coincidental_?” Darcy snapped before she really thought to open her mouth. “ _Certainly_ not the idea that my _missing fiancé_ may have been reconditioned to perform assassinations _against his will_ like some sort of _fucking drone_ , _right_ Maria?”

            She was suddenly so angry that she was shaking, and she vaguely rejoiced that she finally seemed to feeling something _other_ than numbness, to be feeling anything _at all_ , no matter how awful it felt.

            The room was so silent, there could have been a proverbial pin drop.

            Darcy pushed back from the table and stood. “Is _that_ what you’re implying?”

            Maria crossed her arms over her chest. “You tell me.”

            “You _certainly_ seem to know more about what my fiancé is doing than I do, Maria. If you’d really care to share, I’m sure others in the room are at least as curious as _I_ am.”

            Thor jerked. “ _Surely_ , you cannot think him so easily turned, Lady Maria? After all that has happened…His mind is healed.”

            Clint was scowling and Darcy wasn’t sure she wanted to know why.

            Tony sighed again. “Guys, turning on each other’s _not_ gonna help. _If_ he’s been reconditioned, it _doesn’t matter_.” He cut his hand through the air, emphasizing his point. “It _doesn’t change the objectives of the team_. It just means we have to find him _faster_.”

            “ _If_ he’s been reconditioned? _If_?” Maria insisted, scoffing.

            “We have no reason to believe that he has, just from this intel alone,” Clint offered, and Darcy wanted to jump up and hug him.

            “Where’s his tracker, then, Stark?” Maria asked, her voice like a serrated knife. “This is a bit weird, don’t you think? He shows up here with Steve, slowly regains his memories, then _disappears_ , _with_ his tracker, and a _Russian_ arms dealer suddenly goes _missing_?”

            “Wait,” Darcy said, quietly, sinking back down into her chair, her heart pounding and her face paling further, she was sure. But there was something else there, something she could barely begin to think. “You’re implying something else. Say it.”

            Maria visibly hesitated for the first time.

            “God, Maria, don’t do this, please,” Sam pleased quietly, staring down at the table.

            “ _Say it_ ,” Darcy repeated, her voice icy, her back rigid as she stared her friend down.

            But Maria cocked her head smartly and looked her square in the eye. “Does no one else find it _convenient_ that he was able to so easily ingratiate himself into one of our lives? _Awfully_ convenient, the idea that he could so easily fall into a ‘ _relationship’_ with Tony Stark’s assistant, _physical_ or otherwise.”

Darcy stared at her, unable to process, unable to breathe, or blink, or move.

“ _Convenient_ that he showed up _just_ _after_ you and Jane settled in the Tower, hm? Came along _right_ when you were feeling lonely? Perfect, wounded, lost, someone to _fix_ , right? Someone to _help_. Tell me: How good is he in bed? Did he tell you he _loves_ you? And where’s your ring, Darcy?”

            She flinched—hard—unable to stop it. And _everyone_ could see it. Darcy had been wrong before; _now_ it was so quiet you could’ve heard a pin drop.

            Then the whole room _exploded_ into _vicious_ noise.

            “I can’t _believe_ you would even say that _out loud_!” Sam finally snapped.

            “Lady Darcy is no fool!” Thor insisted, his eyes going a threatening shade of dark.

            “You think I could _possibly_ hire someone that _stupid_?!” Jane snarled.

            “The kid’s smart, and she’s not some _whore_ , Maria!” Clint stated.

            “This isn’t a pulp movie with gaslight, seduction ain’t free around here!” Tony sighed.

            But Darcy didn’t hear any of it. She was numb again, just like that, a small blip of feeling, bright and colorful, and it had risen like a flare before bursting and sinking, claimed again to the beckoning ground by gravity.

            She stood, gathered her files, slid her phone back into her pocket, turned, and left, walking slowly and calmly as she drifted out of the room.

            Their voices slowly faded as they realized, one by one, that she’d left.

            But she was already to the elevator, hitting the button to close the door quicker on command, just in case someone was fast enough to try and catch her. As they slid shut as it was, someone voiced, “ _Jesus, someone go and get her_ , already!”

            But she wasn’t listening. “JARVIS. Please.”

            “ _Of course, Ms. Lewis_.”

            He let her off and she went in and shut the door behind her, locking it. “JARVIS?” she called again.

            “ _How might I be of service, Ms. Lewis_?”

            “I don’t care if Tony comes to knock down the wall. This door stays _locked_. Got it?”

            “ _Of course, Ms. Lewis. As you wish. Privacy protocols_?”

            “Yes.” She would _not_ cry, she would _not_. She wouldn’t act like a princess and throw herself across the couch and sob uselessly.

            She sat calmly and stared off into nothing, clutching a death grip on her ring.

            Finally, someone showed.

            She nearly laughed at the cordial little knock they attempted.

            “Darce? It’s me,” Jane called softly, sounding concerned.

            She said nothing.

            “Darce? You let me in? Wanda’s here too, we’re worried about you.”

            “Darcy, I was not there, but I can feel what has happened. You should let us in,” Wanda added. She’d been in and out for days, working on solo ops for Tony.

            For a long moment, she could feel her friend hesitate.

            Then another voice. “Has she replied?” Thor, sounding haggard.

            “No, she won’t even answer me, and the door’s locked.”

            “Are you certain she is within?”

            “JARVIS?”

            “ _Affirmative. However, I must apologize, as my privacy protocols have been activated_.”

            Jane sighed, cursing under her breath.

            “So we are not to gain entry?” Thor clarified.

            “ _Correct_ ,” JARVIS confirmed.

            “Darcy?!” Jane tried again, firmer this time. “Darcy, _come_ on! _Open_ this door! _Don’t_ do this!”

            Thor spoke again, softly. “Jane, my love. She is in turmoil. Perhaps it is best to let her be. There is nothing you can do. Perhaps she needs time.”

            “ _Darcy_!” she yelled again, ignoring him, slamming her palm on the door with a smack. “ _Open this door_!”

            “Jane.”

            “ _Please_ , Darce?”

            Oh, God, and she sounded so sad.

            “Jane. _Come_. Perhaps tomorrow.”

            And they were gone, arguing softly as their voices faded.

            Twenty minutes of further silence gave way to Sam’s voice on the other side of the door. “Hey, Darce. Uh. Listen, I don’t know what to say about that. Uh. She started freakin’ out last night and I tried to get her off it, but obviously she doesn’t listen to me. I just want you to know, I mean, _nobody_ _actually_ thinks that…Anyway. You’ve got my number. I’ll let you be. I mean, assuming I’m actually talking to you and not, like, the door…”

            She snorted softly.

            He was gone.

            Her phone chimed. Clint, of all people. ‘ _Want me to beat her up_?’

            She sent off a plain, ‘No’ and left it at that.

            His only reply was, ‘ _If you’re sure. Just FYI, I’m totally tattling to Steve and Nat_.’

            Tony’s voice in the sudden silence made her jump until she realized he must be able to patch into JARVIS’ mainframe. “ _Hey, Short Stack. I, uh…I won’t bore you repeating what everyone’s probably already said by now, talking to your door like an idiot parade. But, uh…Pep and I, we just wanna make sure you’re, like, okay in there, and alive and stuff. If you could, like, send a signal, it’d keep us from having kittens.”_

            “I’m alive,” she called. “And I won’t pass ‘go’.”

            He laughed softly. “ _Okay. Just, uh…Maybe I’ll be around later, ‘kay_?”

            There was an audible click as he disconnected.

            And she was finally alone.

 


	4. First Turn in the Far Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More angst. Like, a lot more. Some breadcrumbs are followed, leading to surprising results. And maybe a few other surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. Here we go. Chapter Four. I really hope you guys like it. Warning for a lot more angst and broken-heartedness. Just FYI. Lemme know how I'm doing/how you like it.
> 
> Just a note--Thank you guys so much for the kudos/bookmarks/wonderful comments! You are all so, so nice!

She remained that way for _two whole days_.

            _Completely_ alone.

            Another went missing the next morning, an iron magnate from Kenya.

            No one came knocking, with the exception of Tony, who merely patched in to make sure she’d eaten—one time, she lied, the other was the truth—wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor or slitting her wrists. She felt certain that he was watching her at times, but didn’t really mind, even as she sat in what she was sure was quickly spiraling into clinical depression, staring at her ring like it held answers.

            He didn’t attempt to say or do anything further, though she wasn’t sure how long he’d let her get away with that.

            It was a military general next, three stars, a tactical genius, apparently.

            She only knew because she’d asked JARVIS to relay pertinent information as it came in.

            Clint texted once to let her know that the information had been delivered, but that was it.

            Jane didn’t come by. She was sure it was at Thor’s pleading, and she could hear the conversation in her head, Thor begging her to see the other side of her frustration, and not make the blind mistakes he’d made with Loki.

            Wanda, she knew, could probably tell she was alive even from numerous floors down.

            What made it so awful wasn’t her own doubt in him, really. What made it so _awful_ was the niggling idea that she could doubt _herself_. The idea that she could’ve made a mistake like that and not seen it for what it was. A girl, seduced into a spider’s web, dark and sensual. Honey trap, right?

            He’d told her, _so many times_ , over and over, _and over and over_ , to stay away from him, that he would only break her.

            And she’d refused to hear it.

            He’d told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t think he’d ever be able to work right, that he wasn’t some piece of tech that needed tinkering and fixing, that he’d be _half_ a lover at best.

            She’d refused to hear that, too. She’d been right, of course. He’d held himself in check for so long, that that first night had been a sensual rediscovery; she’d been able to see it in his eyes. Surprise that he’d ever forgotten it at all. Like it was the first bit of self-assuredness he’d felt since his return. Surprisingly sweet and tender, then a rush of passion, and he’d had her begging. _Never_ —not _once_ —had a lover gotten that response from her stubbornness. Not _once_.

            Best sex she’d ever had.

            This new Darcy didn’t mind at all that she treasured that memory.

            Only three people hadn’t chosen to give her some version of a look implying her insanity, dancing with the devil. Natasha. Steve. Tony.

            Jane had flat-out asked if she’d become suicidal.

            Wanda had searched her out the morning after their first night in bed to check her for her limbs, and Darcy had snapped that she was still alive and had made it out of the lion’s den in one piece.

            Bucky had laughed, completely unbothered.

            But it had bothered _her_.

            If anything, _she’d_ seduced _him_.

            And since _she_ _wasn’t_ a HYDRA mole, she could only sit in their apartment and stare, endlessly, out the window.

            Another, that afternoon, a political aide to some German politician, missing.

            All with at least one—sometimes more—spent Soviet shells in the vicinity of their disappearance, like breadcrumbs.

            It ate at her, gnawing at her gut, the idea that he could be reprogrammed _just like that_ , reworked into HYDRA’s faithful attendant, while she sat there like a zombie. He was _hers_. Not theirs. _He belonged to her_ , he belonged to _himself_ , and he’d been mind-raped enough to last a _dozen_ lifetimes. And the knowledge that they’d found a way to do it again, despite SHIELD’s best efforts made her headache worse.

            It steadily grew in severity until she was laying in the dark one evening, two nights later, when there was a knock at the door.

            “You let me in, Darce?” he asked, so softly.

            _Steve_.

            Thank all things holy, she shuffled herself to the door and opened it. Tony was flanking him, carrying two bags of takeout from somewhere.

            They pushed their way in before she could protest.

            Tony flicked on a light, and flinched when he saw her. “ _Whoa_. Kid.” He reached into his pocket. “Tunnel vision?”

            She nodded.

            “Here.” He tossed a bottle at her. “Thought you might. Take _one_. With water, _only_. Then eat and lie down. You sleeping?”

            She nodded as she shuffled to the sink in the kitchen and filled a glass. “That’s _all_ I’m doing.”

            “Tony,” Steve started. “She’s getting worse. Maybe we should—”

            “She’s _fine_.” Tony’s eyes never left her, and he spoke with stern certainty. “She’s just gotta get this bit out of her system.”

            Steve sighed. “Tony, I’m not playing around. _He’s not here. That means I’m gonna take care of her_ for _hi—”_

            “ _Trust_ me, Steve. Contrary to popular opinion, I do, in fact, know what I’m doing.”

            Darcy chugged the water and sat down at the table. “What _are_ you doing?” She squinted in the bright light, wincing, her head throbbing. She didn’t want to think too hard about the claim he’d just made. So old-fashioned. So sweet. So _awful_.

            “Makin’ sure you eat, doll,” Steve said, unloading something.

            She flinched sharply and felt her face pinch in physical pain. “ _Don’t_ —don’t call me that. _God_. _Please_.”

            Steve winced. “Sorry.” He balled up the bag and tossed it in the trash. “I’ve…made it clear to Maria that…I refuse to listen to anymore…of her _opinion_ ,” he said, then, striving, in his Steve Rogers way, to be cordial regardless of his own feelings.

            Tony snorted. “Yeah, but your wife called her a bitch to her face.”

            Darcy stared. “She _didn’t_!”

            Tony laughed, that wonderful, loose cackle of his. “She _did_. Told her if she implied you were a stupid whore ever again, she’d personally walk her through the six different ways to eviscerate someone. You know you pissed off Natasha if you can get a rise like _that_ outta her. You should’ve seen her face. Hey. _No one_ insinuates that one of our own has been cheaply seduced by the enemy and gets away with it. Besides, Barnes is one of us now. We got a job to do and that’s _reclaim our own._ You don’t steal from Tony Stark, _thank you very much_ —” he pointed, frowning. “Where’s your rock?”

            She tugged it out of her collar and into the light, and it sparkled cheerfully, casting an odd juxtaposition on the current topic. “Where it’s been the whole time.”

            Tony sighed and nodded as he took a seat across from her at the table. “Maria’s crazy if she thinks he’d have given you _that_ _gorgeous_ thing in some stupid attempt at seduction. You’re a smart kid, you’d have seen right through that.”

            “ _I’m the one that approached him_ ,” she said, firmly, though she wasn’t sure why she felt she had to defend any of it to the two of them. Maybe she just needed to say it out loud.

            “Yeah, _after_ I told you not to go in there without an escort,” Tony added.

            “And he told me to stay away. About a dozen times.”

            “Doesn’t sound like seduction to me,” Steve said as he joined them, depositing the food in the center of the table. “Besides…he’s…” He hesitated.

            Tony’s brows rose. “Rogers?”

            Steve shrugged. “He’s been…himself, lately. Since New Year’s. I’d _never_ say it to him, but he’s been more the _old_ Bucky. The one I remember. He said that Bucky was dead, but he was wrong. He’s in there. He’s just…buried.”

            “Well, not anymore.”

            Darcy snorted bitterly. “Don’t be so sure.”

            Steve looked up sharply. “ _That’s_ the thing that doesn’t make sense, though. When all that went down at the Triskelion last year, there were no casings, there was no evidence. He was a _ghost_ , Natasha’s said it so many times now, I’ve lost count. He was a _ghost story_. _Deadly_ aim, _no_ evidence, _no_ witnesses, just a dead body. But now there are suddenly shells?”

            “Still no witnesses or other evidence—no bodies, even,” Tony pointed out.             “That’s _sloppy_.”

            “It’s gotta be him,” Darcy said, staring at all the food. “You guys don’t _actually_ expect me to eat, right?” But the pill Tony had given her was working quickly, the pressure in her head easing by the minute.

            Tony fixed her with a stern glare. “ _Eat_ , Short Stack, or I’m hooking you up. Don’t think I won’t.”

            She sighed, and reached for a boxed salad and a plastic fork. “Anything useful from von Strucker?”

            Tony scowled, making it clear they’d already discussed this without her.

            Steve shook his head. “Not really. The atmosphere in there…it’s dark. Even Nat was freaked out. He was babbling, he just kept going on about _Operation Paperclip_ , and the ‘world on its knees’, and _Operation Paperclip, it’s Operation Paperclip_.” He shrugged, dejected. “I dunno where we go from here.”

            “Sam didn’t set eyes on anything weird down in Hell’s Kitchen?” she asked. “That’s the main area they seemed to keep cornering us on New Year’s.”

            Tony shook his head. “Nothing. And CCTV is too vague, I’ve got no way of knowing who’s who just on the street. And the feed hasn’t kicked back anyone in our banks of known HYDRA agents on facial recognition.”

            Everyone went silent.

            Darcy picked at her salad. “If anyone else is killed…I don’t think he can come back from that a second time, guys…” She swallowed thickly. “The guilt will be too heavy this time.”

            Steve’s hand found her thigh under the table, but there was nothing erotic about his squeezing fingers, warm near her knee.

            She threw herself back in the chair. “He’d _just_ pulled himself from the wreckage of his _own_ mind!” she snapped, angry.

            Tony’s eyes were sad, and he was picking listlessly himself at his pasta. “I know, Short Stack.”

            She stood and started pacing. “He was _good_. He was _fine_. The nightmares were _finally_ letting him sleep. God, he was _normal_ — _we_ were normal! And he told me after I sat down that day, that he _never would be again_! He was _good_!”

            Steve sighed. “Darce, sit down before you pass out.”

            Tony held out a hand. “No. No, let her get it out. She’s been a drone while you were gone, just let her talk it out.”

            “I’ve been with SHIELD in some capacity long enough to know what evil looks like, and Maria thinks I’d be fooled by his pretty eyes and a _good night in bed_?!” she snarled. “If I was that _stupid_ , I’d have stayed with my last _fucking boyfriend_ , no matter how many colors he could turn my skin!”

            Steve flinched at the mention of Daniel; she’d told him as well, one night on her couch, in front of _Star Trek_.

            “Never _once_ did he ask for excuses or acceptance, _never once_ , even though you could see it in his eyes that he _needed_ it, more than _anything_ else, and mostly from _himself_. And Maria thinks I was just _some op? A mission_. Go in, choose the weakest link and _fuck_ her until she trusts you and then— _what_? What would be the point?!”

            “You’re not the weakest link, Short Stack. You’re the _glue_.”

            She stopped, turned, and looked at him. “ _What_?”

            Tony shrugged. “You’re the _glue_. You said it yourself: you’re the _wrangler_ , you keep us all in line. You do all the little things that none of us think of that would make this all come down around our ears if it wasn’t taken care of. You do the hacking, you catalogue the evidence, all that crap. You’re the _glue_.”

            She came back over and sat down hard, dazed. “You know what’s _awful_ —what’s the _worst_?”

            Steve set his hand to her knee again. “What, Darce?”

            “ _You can’t kill an idea_.”

            He frowned. “What do you mean?”

            She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “I said that to him, on New Year’s, when he said I wasn’t safe with him, no matter how healed he was. I told him to accept the _idea_ of himself, because you _can’t kill an idea_. And no matter how sure I am of _him_ , Maria, she’s…she put it out there, and I _can’t get it out of my head_. No matter _how_ _sure_ I _think_ I am, what if…what if…?”

            “What if you’ve been played?” Tony finished. “What if we _all_ have? By HYDRA? What if he was manipulating all of us and even _he_ didn’t know it?”

            Steve didn’t protest.

            Darcy nodded, staring down at her hands. “Yeah. How do you…how do _I_ …?” She bit her lip, the tears rising again, and she let it come, let herself be the other Darcy that Bruce had talked about. It was too late to go back now, it was too late to deny the changed in herself. She gasped roughly. “Oh, _God_ …” She gasped again, not sure who was wheezing until Steve was pushing back his chair and it was obvious it was her.

            “ _Get her up, get her up_ ,” Tony was saying as he stood.

            Steve picked her up easily from the chair. “C’mon, sweetie…” he murmured.

            Tony cleared a path for them to the couch and shoved the blanket out of the way. “Here. Set her here. Get her legs up.”

            She couldn’t stop the gasping, her pounding heart. The walls were closing in, moving, and the sun had set early, the room going steadily darker as she struggled to pull in each breath.

            “Get her legs _up_ , here. _Bend_ them. I’ve had my share of these, head between her knees, Rogers.” Hands pushed at her back, shoving her gently forward so her head was between her legs. “Just breathe, Short Stack. Just breathe.”

            “I’m here, Darcy,” Steve was murmuring, over and over, clutching one of her hands.

            The door opened, then shut. “Panic attack?” another voice asked.

            “ _Big_ one.”

            “Maria?”

            “ _Don’t_ —don’t go and claw out her eyes, Tash. Just go get Bruce.”

            The door opened again, then shut, and it was quiet, but for her ragged gasps, the pain in her chest a loud screaming thing all its own, high and sharp in her ears. She gripped a hand to her heart. “I _can’t_ —I _can’t_ —”

            “ _Just breathe_ , Short Stack. We’re here. Just breathe.” A warm hand on her back, creating an echo of her heart in her own body, the even pulse drumming like a gong, and spreading out to her extremities. “Just breathe.”

            Slowly, the wheezing faded and her pulse slowed, and the fist around her heart eased.

            The door opened. “She’s on the couch. I came in to a _mess_ , Bruce.”

            “Alright, let’s see what’s going on, shall we?”

            Neither of her saviors moved.

            “Guys, uh. I need to get to…Darcy.”

            “Right.”

            “Sorry.”

            Shifting around, then the cushion beside her shifted and Bruce was there, leaning over her. “Darcy. You hear me?”

            She sat up, still breathless, and nodded.

            He smiled warmly. “Okay, _good_. That’s good.” He slid a hand along her throat, then his fingers took up her arm and ghosted along her wrist. The room was still and silent. Then he nodded. “Pulse is steady. A little elevated, but steady. You feeling a little better?”

            She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

            “The room stop spinning?”

            She nodded.

            “That’s good. Would you lay down for me?”

            She did so, slowly, with Steve still clutching her other hand, and she saw his pinched and worried face over Bruce’s shoulder.

            Tony hovered behind the couch, his arm rather uncharacteristically around Natasha’s hunched shoulders. The spy’s face was deceptively impassive, her eyes hard as she surveyed the goings-on.

            How had Natasha even known to show? Had one of them called her in the chaos, or had she been watching them on a feed?

            Bruce fitted her with a cuff and took her blood pressure, nodding. “Okay, her blood pressure’s a little low, but it’s within range.” He looked at her softly. “I need you to _eat_ , okay, Darcy? And _water_. You _need_ water. Can you do that for me or does Tony need to follow doctor’s orders?”

            She rolled her eyes, and nodded. “ _Yes, Sir_. I’m not a child.”

            He smiled. “I know.” He stood and put his cuff away. “I’m going to go and get a mild sedative for you, just a small sleeping pill. None of this tossing and turning that you’re doing out here on the couch. You’re going to go up with Steve and Natasha, you’re going to sleep in their bed and get a full eight to ten hours. Then we’ll go from there. Okay?”

            She scowled. “I don’t want to—”

            “Shut up, Darcy,” Natasha said softly from behind the couch. “It’s us or Tony and Pepper, and we all know how Pepper can be when someone doesn’t feel well.”

            Tony pretended to shudder. “Hover, hover,” he murmured, a wry grin in place, but his eyes were sad. “You okay, Short Stack? You’re scarin’ me.”

            She shrugged. “I’m _fine_.”

            Bruce nodded, then left.

            Natasha drifted off after him, and Darcy suspected Maria might still have to defend herself at some point in the near future.

            Steve sat down again and Tony threw himself over the back of the couch.

            She stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how that happened,” she murmured. “That’s…that’s not me at all.”

            Tony smirked. “Yeah, that happens when you gain a significant other, you find _extra_ stuff. It’s like an obstacle course—or a scavenger hunt. Except, you know, not as fun.”

            “That’s what Bruce said. It changes you.”

            Steve nodded and reached out to smooth her hair back. “Doesn’t make you any less _Darcy_ , Darcy.” He smiled.

            “I’ve never had a panic attack before.”

            Tony snorted. “They’re a _blast_ , hey? Welcome to the club!” He waved his hands around, grinning. But his eyes were sad. “If you feel like a burden or like you’re being babysat, you can come on over with me and Pep, if you want. Our door’s open.” He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze.

            They finally got her up and she ate, hungrier than she’d been in a while. Tony watched carefully as she took the small pill Bruce brought, having made sure the painkiller he’d given her would have no interaction. She went upstairs with Steve and found Natasha layering the bed with an extra blanket. “Lay down,” she ordered with a rueful frown, and she did as she was told. “We might be in and out, but you just sleep. Okay?”

            She nodded.

            And she did.

           

            It was a deep and dreamless sleep, heavy and thick, like her mind was swimming through pea soup, warm but pulling, tugging, dragging her deeper and deeper until she was so far under, she couldn’t see the surface.

            When she woke, it was daylight.

            For a long while, she stared around, waiting for the crushing weight of reality to set in, but it settled like a cool shawl around her shoulders and she could still breathe.

            There were soft voices coming from the other room, hushed, the sounds of light cutlery and the smell of coffee.

            Oddly clear and awake, she sat up, dropped her feet to the floor and stretched. She pulled herself up and went down the hall—it was a similar setup in Steve and Natasha’s old place to their apartment—and came out into the living area.

            The two of them were sitting at the table, their chairs pushed close together. Steve was finishing off a piece of toast and Natasha was clutching a cup of coffee and they were huddled together over a tablet, Steve’s hand on her thigh.

            “…But _Operation Paperclip_ was started _after_ the War, during the Cold War. That was the point, to get all those minds in some form of permanent order so we’d have the advantage over the Soviets,” Natasha was saying.

            “But what if that’s what they _wanted_ us to think?”

            “I’m not following. What are you saying, Steve?”

            “I dunno. What if…what if _Operation Paperclip_ is older than we thought? What if some of it was swept under the rug or retooled for our use? What if…it _doesn’t_ have SHIELD origins?”

            The floor creaked in betrayal and Natasha looked up, and gave her a gentle smile. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

            Steve turned and smiled brightly. “You look better.”

            She yawned, then sighed as she crossed the room. “Well, now you know what my rock bottom looks like, so anything must be an improvement.”

            Natasha frowned. “Can’t believe one of our own could make an accusation like that.”

            Steve shook his head. “Be better if we could just locate him. Tony said it’s weird, like the chip was removed. But he also said that in his own software, it looks more like its being blocked. Doesn’t make any sense.”

            “How can he be getting two different readings like that?” Darcy asked as she came in and sat down.

            Natasha got up immediately and poured a cup of coffee, setting it on the table in front of her with the creamer from the fridge. “Here.”

            “Thanks.”

            Steve sighed. “I don’t know. Even _Tony’s_ stumped. And you know how bad _that_ is.”

            She snorted. “I’m sure he’s threatened to dismantle DUM-E at least a dozen times while I’ve been gone.”

            She blinked. It’d been a week. A whole _week_ without him.

            “What?” Natasha asked warily, watching her with her spy eyes on.

            “Just realized it’s been a whole week, that’s all.”

            Steve sighed again, dejectedly. “I can’t stand this.”

            She leaned against her husband. “You’ll find him, Steve. You did it once, you’ll do it again.”

            They continued working and theorizing while Darcy drank her coffee, letting her know, with long faces, that two more had disappeared, an FBI agent and a French foreign national, in Switzerland for some work with the Large Hadron Collider. She sighed, but pushed it back, and by the time she’d finished her coffee, her mind was buzzing again with ideas and work. She stood. “I’m going, uh…to go home and have a shower.”

            Natasha nodded. “You come get me if you come across anyone gives you a hard time, okay, Darce?”

            She nodded, thanked them profusely, Steve gave her a way-too-tight hug, and she slipped away.

            She took a shower first, grateful that Tony had obviously straightened things up the night before, and that the food was put away, there were assorted bottles of Perrier for her to drink with a note that said, ‘ ** _I want these gone by week’s end_** ,’ and the blankets had all been neatly folded and piled on one end of the couch. Then she dressed and checked her phone.

            A text from Jane awaited her, a smiley that said, ‘ _Heard about last night. Don’t want to bug you. Call me when you’re ready.’_

            She smiled and checked her voicemails, just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, and regretted it instantly as she stumbled across one that she’d saved, most likely in error, while she’d crossed a busy Manhattan street, one eye on traffic, one on the groceries she hadn’t wanted to lug in a cab. Bucky’s voice was light and full of humor. ‘Just checking in. Let me know when you’re home, I’ll come pick you up, ‘kay, doll?’

            Unprepared for it, the sound of his warm voice hit her like a punch to the gut, visceral and burning, and she sat down hard on the couch, clutching the phone in her hand and staring at the far wall.

            Then she hit ‘repeat’.

            ‘Just checking in. Let me know when you’re home, I’ll come pick you up, ‘kay, doll?’

            Then she did it again. ‘…I’ll come pick you up…’

            She swallowed, hard, the ache in her chest increasing until it was an acute burn. She pulled her ring out from her collar and studied it. One large two-carat stone, princess cut, flanked by two half-carats on either side, a silver band. He’d mentioned off-handedly something about having it engraved later.

            Then she got up and went to work.

            Bruce was waiting for her and they talked for a while and he checked her blood pressure again, until finally he was satisfied.

            She got right down to it. “What do you know about _Operation Paperclip_?”

            Tony frowned. “Probably about as much as anyone else. Recruited HYDRA scientists to work for SHIELD.” He shrugged. “But we all know how _that_ turned out. Largely overseen by Carter, I think. Why?”

            She nibbled on her lip. “Nothing. Just…something Steve said. He and Natasha were pouring over those files this morning and Steve was wondering about the truth of the project’s origins.”

            He pulled a face. “Like…?”

            She shrugged. “Like, maybe it’s older than we thought or didn’t have SHIELD origins. Think he’s just trying to put the pieces together.”

            Tony sat back in his chair. “What’s he think this has to do with Barnes?”

            She shrugged again. “I don’t know. Just…the wheels are turning, now that I’ve had some sleep.” She cleared her throat, uncomfortable. “Thanks…for that…by the way. Um…I didn’t know…it was _that_ bad.” She sat heavily down in her chair.

            He smiled kindly in that Tony way he had. “That’s usually how it is. You good, now? Or, you know, _functioning_?” His brows creased in concern.

            She took a breath, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

            He gestured to his console. “It’s an interesting idea. I’m going to poke into our old files and see if there’s anything that smells off. You want to, uh…work your magic, see if you can’t dig up anything juicy?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a secretive way, implying he wanted her to use her unsanctioned talents at digital break-in.

            She smirked conspiratorially. “Whatever you say, boss.”

            “Hey—what’d I say about you calling me ‘boss’?”

            They set to it, but, of course, were met with more roadblocks. Tony found nothing but confirmation of everything he’d told her, and no matter where Darcy hacked, it seemed there was nothing more to be found. All the official records stated that _Operation Paperclip_ had been unofficially started as _Operation Overcast_ after victory on the German front in 1945, been officially declared by Truman as _Operation Paperclip_ a little after that, and had ended as of 1990. Nothing before. Nothing after.

            Frustrated, they parted for the evening and Darcy went home to shower again and actually eat a good meal.

            She passed out on the couch under three blankets after setting her Starkphone alarm and didn’t wake once.

            By the time her alarm went off and she pulled herself back up, the coffee she’d programmed the night before was done and had warmed the apartment with the smell of espresso. She had a cup and went to dress.

            When she returned to pack her purse, she noticed her phone blinking and found a text she hadn’t had before. Smirking to herself at what was surely a worried Jane, she opened it—and frowned in confusion.

 

N30.12.419

W86.31.208

 

            She blinked, then backed out of the message, before going back in the long way, through her messaging app. ‘ _Unknown’_ , it said, under the received heading, but she tapped it again, and it opened on that and nothing else.

 

N30.12.419

W86.31.208

 

            She sat down, backed out of it one more time, and repeated it, staring at the ‘ _Unknown’_ under the received heading, where all the others were marked. ‘Clint’ said one, with the heading of ‘ _You want me to beat her up?_ ’ ‘Jane’ was still there, waiting to be answered. ‘ _Unknown’_. It stared right back at her.

            And a niggling went up her spine and lodged at the back of her neck, a tiny thought, a little whispering voice that had her heart jumping prematurely with a spark of something she didn’t want to name for fear of the _jinx_.

            She slid on her cardigan over her pencil skirt and blouse, grabbed her purse, and was gone, dialing Steve as she got on the elevator. But she bit her lip as Maria followed her in and stood there beside her, making no eye contact in the reflective glass of the doors.

            Steve answered on the third ring. “Darcy? Is something wrong?”

            She couldn’t have been more glad in that moment had Tony appeared with a gallon of ice cream. But she had to be careful.

            When they’d first become friends, they’d been pretty buddy-buddy and she’d saved him from numerous occasions of women throwing themselves at him. Stark functions were always lots of fun, of course, for everyone but him, as Stark liked to invite lots of rich men, who, in turn, arrived with beautiful women on their arms—women clearly keen on a roll in the hay with Captain America.

            As a joke one night, on her couch, they’d come up with a code, so that every time a function rolled around, if Steve got corned by a pushy supermodel, she could call him from the other side of the room and not make it obvious that he needed rescuing.

            So as Maria determinedly scowled— _hard_ —at the floor, Darcy smirked and jumped right to it, hoping he’d still remember.

            “Yeah, was thinking about going out to get _breakfast_. Question: you like _spicy?”_

            _IE: Something weird’s going on this morning, and it requires immediate action._

            He fumbled for a moment as he worked it in his head. “Um, yeah. Yeah. Spicy _works_. That deli on _fourth_?”

            _IE: Where are we meeting?_

            “The _garage_?” It was the only other word for ‘ _shop’_ , and she needed him to figure that off the cuff; she needed Tony in on this too.

            “Sure. Sounds good.”

            “Bye.” She tapped out of the call just in time for JARVIS to let her off and she darted quickly out and into Tony’s office, where he was already tapping away.

            “Nothing yet on _Paperclip_ ,” he was saying over his shoulder, but Darcy reached out and spun his chair around.

            “Something weird came through on my phone just now,” she said.

            He frowned. “ _’Weird’_? Just now, as in _just now_?”

            She flapped a hand. “While I was getting dressed, like fifteen minutes ago.”

            Steve blew in. “Good thing I figured out that ‘ _garage’_ is a more normal term for ‘ _shop’_ nowadays,” he said as he shut the door behind him. “Was Maria in the elevator with you?”

She nodded.

“Well? What’s up?”

            “ _This_.” She brought up the text on her phone, hit a few buttons, flicked the screen and it popped up on JARVIS display in the middle of the room, the numbers large and blue on the digital hologram.

            Tony frowned. “Are those—”

            “ _Coordinates_ ,” Steve finished, recognizing them immediately and approaching them to study them further, a frown on his face, too. “Those are coordinates.”

            “They _are_?” Darcy asked. “I wasn’t sure what the hell to make of ‘em. I must’ve gone in and out of the message about three times trying to figure it out.”

            “Huh,” Tony grunted.

            “You got these on your phone?” Steve asked, turning to face her. “On your _phone_ —in a _text_?”

            She nodded, her heart pounding. “Phone can’t identify a sender, it just comes up ‘ _Unknown’_.”

            Tony looked up and he and Steve shared a look. “You don’t think…?”

            Steve shrugged. “What do they call them—the throwaway phones?”

            “Burners,” Darcy answered, beginning to pace. “They’re _untraceable_.”

            They all looked at each other.

            Then Tony sprang into action, spinning around to put the coordinates into his system, humming to himself in a much brighter fashion than Darcy thought he’d done anything in days. He frowned, hit some buttons. He typed in the numbers. Then he frowned some more.

            JARVIS triangulated for a few seconds, then spoke up, showing them a map onscreen of the New York area, dragged down nearer and nearer until they were looking at a strip of what looked like abandoned warehouses. Then he spoke. _“The coordinates given appear to belong to this warehouse in—”_

            “SOHO.” Steve’s face was passive in surprise as he approached the display and stared at it hard. “ _Oh, my God_.”

            “What?” Tony asked.

            “I know that warehouse.”

            Darcy stared. “That’s not where you finally…”

            “That’s where Sam and I finally found him. We tracked him along the east coast before the trail led us here. I remember Sam theorizing that he was heading home, that his memories were leading him back to Brooklyn, but when we got here a lead dropped us at _that_ complex. _That_ warehouse, _exactly_. _That_ was where he’d holed up.”

            Darcy’s heart was pounding. “Wait—those missing people—did they…did they go missing from their _homes_? Where were they all last seen?” An idea was jumbling around in her head, a terrible, awful, wonderful idea that she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop to examine in any minute detail.

            Now Tony’s face went slack in surprise as the same thing happened to him. “New York, tri-state area. Uh…” He snapped his fingers and turned to click away again, bringing up the list of names. “Uh, I didn’t put that together, but you’re right, even the ones that were _supposed_ to be somewhere else, there were unanswered questions about events they’d been invited to in New York, like they’d all decided to take random trips, all during the same week. They were _all_ in New York.”

            Again, they all looked at each other for one long moment.

            Finally, Darcy worked up the courage to say it out loud. “You think he’s…leading us there…like, sending a message?” It was too, too much to hope for, the idea that he was alright, the idea that maybe he was at least alright enough to be sending them clandestine signals.

            But Tony was already working. “If you guys go now, it’ll be less obvious. I can stay here and man the tech, fend off the vultures in case—” He glanced through the window to the hallway—“In case _someone_ comes looking for you.”

            Steve and Darcy looked at each other. Steve looked like he wanted to argue about taking her into potential danger. After all, this could be a giant trap.

            Tony sighed. “ _Go_!”

            Steve flinched. “Go. Change into dark jeans, if you’ve got them, a dark sweater, it’s gotta be warm enough, because if you want to move if you need to, you’re going to need to wear a light coat. Your dark Nikes should be fine. Bring _nothing_ else but your phone. I’ll bring the earpieces. Down here in ten.”

            “Right.”

            They split up.

            Darcy was in such a rush, she fumbled most of what she picked up, changing in record time, and pulling her hair up in a high pony at the back of her head. She’d slid on her Nikes and was sliding her Starkphone in her back pocket, her hands shaking, when she paused.

            She pulled at the chain around her throat and stared at her ring. She should leave it, just in case. It was ridiculously expensive, and she didn’t want to lose it or damage it. She’d never be able to live with herself, the grief of it.

            She went to unclasp it. But she _couldn’t_.

            Biting her lip, she tucked it back in, under her top, and trapped it there against her heart again, slipping out and down the hall and into the elevator without being spotted.

            When she got back to Tony’s shop, Steve was pulling an ammo vest out of the closet and pulling the Velcro apart. “Here,” he said, handing it blindly to her over his shoulder.

            She slipped it on and Tony made sure it was tight while Steve did the same with his own.

            “I’ll be here,” Tony said. “Manning the post, and in your ear. Hope I don’t talk it off.”

            “You’re _already_ talkin’ it off, Stark,” Steve quipped as he slipped the tiny earpiece in and Darcy followed suit.

            She grinned. It felt foreign on her mouth.

            But she didn’t have time to wonder what that meant as they were shunted out the door by their resident inventor. “Careful in the halls so you don’t get spotted. Take the Land Rover.” He pressed keys into Steve’s palm and slammed the door behind them.

 

            “Now you’ve got to remember to keep _both eyes open_ , Darce,” Steve was saying as he drove like a madman through New York.

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “Steve, I’ve had training. You do know that, right?”

            He sighed and signaled a left, hooking around the corner and ignoring the horn of a coming taxi. “Yeah, I know. But—”

            “And what basic training I haven’t had, Bucky’s covered. I can shoot at least well enough to defend myself, I’ve usually got my taser, I’m pretty good at hand-to-hand, and I’m not an idiot.”

            He gave her a look. “I _know_ you’re not an—”

            “So just calm down.”

            He sighed again, his brow furrowing as he stared ahead. “I know, I know. It’s just…”

            She bit her lip as she stared out the window. _Don’t say it, don’t say it…Please, don’t say it, Steve, please don’t say it…_

            “It’s just…when we were kids, things were different. You looked out for each other. It’s not…really like that anymore, not in the same way. And…”

            She swallowed. “Steve—”

            “ _You’re his girl_.”

            She sighed.

            “You’re his girl. And I know that’s, like, archaic terminology. But there it is. You’re his _girl_. And he’s not here to take care of you, so I’m supposed to step in. And we’re friends, we’ve been friends since before I ever found him. And I care about you. So…”

            She drew a breath. “Steve, you don’t have to give me the whole spiel, okay? I get it.”

            He nodded. “Okay. Dropping it.”

            Ten minutes later, and he’d pulled over and parked at the curb. Darcy got out and rechecked the secure on her vest, drifting a hand nervously over the knife she’d slid into the tiny slip, one of Bucky’s. A knife she was less confident in, but she hadn’t bothered asking for a gun and she hadn’t thought herself capable of sneaking one of Bucky’s out of the building. “So how are we doing this?”

            Steve surveyed the busy street. “We’re going to case the block real quick and then go in. And you’re going to stay _behind_ me, okay?”

            She rolled her eyes again. “Got it, _Captain_.”

            He winced. “Let’s go.”

            They made it around the block in record time, the two of them moving their heads in continual surveillance, and Darcy was smugly glad she kept up with Steve’s long strides.

            Finally they found the door at the back. It was padlocked, but Steve just scoffed before bringing the edge of his shield down on it and busting the loop clean off, sending the lock clattering to the cold cement. With a grimace, he pushed the huge door open just a few feet and slid in.

            It really was just a huge, empty, abandoned warehouse, one giant room still stacked with boxes and containing a single interior room for an office.

            Darcy’s pulse jumped in her throat. She’d have made a comment about how exciting it was to be on the beat with Captain America _himself_ if she wasn’t so nervous.

            Steve began forward, his pace sure but ready and she fell into step half a stride behind him.

            She pulled the lid off one of the boxes, but found it to be empty; likely they’d been left waiting by some shipping company that had since closed its doors, or downsized. She bit her lip and toed after him to catch up.

            Some of the high windows had been shattered, likely by kids or gangs, making contests out of throwing bottles or rocks, and sure enough, a few large rocks littered the floor just a few yards away. Luckily, it was broad daylight, or they likely wouldn’t be able to see very well. The bulbs in the overhead lights were mostly broken and the one that still remained looked iffy at best.

            Finally, they reached the office door. This one had a very new looking padlock on it, again, the kind that was heavy duty and would require a key. Steve took care of that in short order too.

            She was about to comment on how uneventful being on the beat really was, when he pushed the door open—

            And they were met with the frightened gazes of half a dozen people, one of them sitting in the dusty chair behind the desk and attempting to determine exactly where they were by thumbing through a large yellow pages.

            The woman nearest them gasped and jumped when she saw them.

            But Darcy had frozen in the doorway, staring at them each in turn. Business suits, sports jackets, glasses and expensive clothing. Scientists, rich businessmen, and the like. “ _Breadcrumbs_ ,” she murmured, her heart pounding.

            Steve turned a confused gaze on her. “What, Darcy?”

            She swallowed, but the tears were already rising, clogging her throat. “ _Breadcrumbs_. The _shells_. The _coordinates_. They were _breadcrumbs_.”

            Steve blinked at her for a moment, his mind turning, before he stared at them all in turn as well.

            “ _Breadcrumbs_ , Steve.”

            His eyes widened as he put the pieces together. “ _He didn’t kill them_.”

            She couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down her face, relief like she’d never felt before rising up in a wave and carrying her away, and she sat down hard on the nearest dusty, empty shelf, her knees failing her. “He didn’t kill them. He left us _breadcrumbs_ , Steve. He didn’t kill them!”

            Darcy Lewis didn’t cry. But she cried anyway.

 

            Steve talked to them all for over an hour, one by one, the door sealed shut behind them for security. It was clear that he’d made strides in his ridiculous ability to soak up other languages, because Darcy had absolutely no idea what most of them were saying.

            She sat on her shelf and collected herself, her mind turning over what this meant and where they were supposed to go from here.

            Finally he came over and crouched in front of her. “You okay?” He set a hand on her knee.

            She nodded. “Better now. What did they have to say?”

            He turned and watched a few of them. “All mostly the same. Man in a mask took them. Brought them here. Barely spoke, but the man in the back, there?” He pointed to a gray-haired and hard-looking gentleman at the desk. “ _He’s_ Tkenko. Said he got a few words out of him in Russian. What sounds like it amounts to an apology and a promise to get them out when he could.”

            She sighed. “Okay. And the rest of them?”

            “Describe an unbelievably fast man of medium height, with shoulder length brown hair and, I quote, ‘Pretty, blue eyes’.”

            She crumpled again, her face in her hands, and she couldn’t stop the shivering. “What else?”

            “Apparently, he arrives with food every morning, comes in, checks them all visually, doesn’t speak a word, then leaves again. We’ve already missed him today.”

            “But he’s in the city.

            He shrugged. “In some capacity, yes.”

            She nodded, and bit her lip.

            Just then, another man spoke up, closer to them, thin and dark-haired with a fantastic goatee. _“Il y avait une telle agonie dans son regard,”_ he murmured, his eyes downcast.

            Steve nodded, looking sad.

            Darcy jumped. “What? What was that?”

            Steve sighed. “He said that there was anguish in his eyes.”

            She sighed. “ _God_ …”

            Steve stood and pulled out his phone, hitting a few buttons while Darcy stared at them all again, trying to reconcile herself with what might be going on, the uncertainty gnawing at her gut. Where _was_ he all day? And _how_ was he hiding these people, these people he was clearly _supposed_ to have _killed_?

            “Yeah, Stark, it’s me. Thought you were going to be in our ears?” He held the phone up and hit the speaker button.

            _“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. I’m having some weird tech problems over here, ever since you left. You think…you don’t think Maria…?”_

            Steve frowned. “Maybe she got suspicious.”

            _“I dunno. Anyway, sorry. But how goes it? Anything interesting?”_

            “You could say that.”

            _“Ooh, do tell, Captain Yankee Doodle, don’t leave a guy hangin’.”_

            “ _We found them_.”

            _“…That’s disturbingly ambiguous, Rogers. Found who and in what shape?”_

            “All of them, Stark, all the missing higher-ups. _Alive_. In this warehouse, hidden away. And apparently they’re being taken care of with the promise that they’ll be released as soon as possible.” His voice was tense.

            There was a long moment of silence, which was a rarity for Tony. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and reserved. _“You okay, Short Stack?”_

            She sighed, reaching up to rub at the back of her head again, that same headache blooming. “Fine. I guess. Where do we go from here? Can we get them out without setting off the alarm? I mean, what if someone finds out that not only are these people _not dead_ , but that someone freed them? I mean, he’s already broken their rules, what if—”

            _“You let us figure that part out, okay, Short Stack? I’m already sending Sam in a truck to come pick you up. Steve-o, I’m on my way, with backup.”_

            She opened her mouth to argue, but then realized she didn’t really care. This whole drama was seriously draining her, and just this excursion into the field with Steve was too much. She needed to sleep and completely absorb what had happened.

            So when Sam walked in and gallantly offered his arm with an impish grin, she took it gratefully.

            She also didn’t argue when he pulled off in front of a theater and commanded her inside.

            “You takin’ me on a date, Wilson?”

            “Sure am,” he shot back, easy and relaxed, as he slid his card over the counter.

            She smirked. She should’ve figured he’d jump at any chance to get out of the convoluted SHIELD crap that was bound to come up at an operation like smuggling those poor people to safety. Sam was too relaxed for all that, was more the action type guy than the cloak and dagger sort. “I should warn ya, I already got a fella,” she teased, looping her hand back around his elbow as they went past the ticket counter and through the lobby.

            Sam chuckled and shrugged. “Well, maybe you outta tell him he’s fallin’ down on the job, ‘cause someone’s gotta keep this lady pleased, and he sure ain’t doin’ it right now.”

            She cackled a laugh before she even whispered a chuckle and the sound echoed in the long, dim hallway.

            Sam stared at her, then raised a fist in victory. “ _Yes_. That record goes to _me_. First to make Darcy laugh in a week. I am writing that down somewhere and you are going to sign it, little lady.”

            She sighed, glancing up at the titles as they passed screen after screen. “Whatcha making me sit through? It better not be some car movie crap.”

            He laughed and shook his head. “Just an innocent comedy, nothing trigger-y.” He tugged her into the next one and they climbed the stairs. “Besides, you deserve a distraction. Tony’s busy and Steve can be pretty uptight with some of the 1940’s shit. You need someone your own era with no strings. Here I am.” He gave her a cute little nod as he ushered her in and followed her down the aisle.

            She sat down and immediately put her feet up on the chair in front of her. It was a largely empty theater.

            “Listen,” he began, lowering into the seat beside hers. “I’m not gonna bore you with all the shit you’ve probably already heard. But I’m serious: no one actually _thinks_ you’ve been seduced. I mean, it sounds crazy, but it’s been too long—no one doubts Barnes mind anymore, and what you and Steve just found outta be proof. And hey— _nobody_ seduces Darcy Lewis. You’re too shrewd for any of that shit.”

            She blushed and was glad for the dim lighting.

            “You guys ever do this? Y’know, dinner and a movie?” He waved a hand vaguely.

            She really wanted to ask about Maria, but didn’t want to spoil the mood. “He’s suggested it a few times now, but I won’t let up until he’s all caught up.” She smirked.

            “Aw!” he threw his head back. “You are _diabolical_. You won’t let that poor guy pick and choose, it’s gotta pertain to his pop culture education?”

            She snickered. “No, no, he can pick and choose, but it can’t be anything _brand_ _new_. He’s got too much ground to cover yet, there would be no context.”

            He sighed. “You got a point.”

            “He’s had his eye on the new _Pirates of the Caribbean_ , though, so that’s my goal, catch up by then. And, _Game of Thrones_ doesn’t count.”

            He shook his head. “Of course not.”

            She slapped him on the shoulder.

            “Just listen, though. We are gonna find our way outta this. He’s gonna come back to you. And we’re all gonna go back to normal, working our way systematically through the HYDRA shit-storm. Got it?”

            She took a deep breath, and nodded.

            He was true to his word—it was an innocent comedy. Turned out, it was something with Bruce Willis, where he had to work his way across the country, looking for his runaway police partner. Turned out, it was all a case of mistaken identity, and Channing Tatum had only _looked_ like the patsy for a drug cartel.

            That didn’t stop the ensuing chase from being ridiculously hilarious, and Darcy didn’t think she’d laughed that hard in weeks.

            When they got back, she was infinitely more relaxed, she was actually hungry, and she decided to go with it after he dropped her outside their door. She ate, she showered, she sat down on the couch and put on an episode of _Magnum PI_.

            Of course, she realized later that the particular episode she watched might’ve been a bad choice, and wondered, after she turned the lights off, if she shouldn’t have one of his guns beside her at night. There was no telling, after all, what HYDRA was capable of.

            She got up, popped an Advil at her worsening headache, and dug through his bag until she found his SIG. She’d trained with it with him, and she knew how it worked, but it had no safety and she knew it would land her on her ass, so she held it delicately, testing it in her hand for a moment. Then she shook her head at her own foolishness, set it on the coffee table, and fell asleep.

            The next day was eventful. Tony relayed that all the poor kidnapping victims had been taken to a safe house and debriefed, one by one, and were resting comfortably with Natasha and Maria. He snickered at the implied high tension between the two.

            So it fell to her to type up the enormous report on their op, and it was back to the usual hurry up and wait while Tony went back into battle with Drone 13.

            She was feeling a little better overall, _relieved_ , of course, that no one had been killed at her fiance’s hand. But it didn’t help that he had so blatantly broken their rules, and, consequently, she found herself worrying hard over that.

            It must’ve shown on her face, because Tony shooed her out at her regular time, threw himself back into battle, and that was that.

            She followed the same routine, but she hesitated—like she _always_ did—after her shower, standing in the bedroom, staring at the bed. She still hadn’t made it, hadn’t had the strength, and she frowned at the turned back covers in her bathrobe, wondering if she should just suck it up and attempt a real night’s sleep in an actual bed rather than folded up like a pretzel on the couch, making for a very stiff and sore morning.

            She retrieved the SIG, checked the clip, and set it on her bedside table, then straightened the covers and checked the time. It was early yet—just after eleven—so she crawled in with _Harry Potter_ and disappeared into another world.

            Finally, after midnight, she couldn’t manage to keep her eyes open anymore, and she admitted defeat, shutting off the light and settling in. She curled in on herself in an attempt to banish the cold, reminding herself it was all psychological, and finally slipped under.

            She had a strange dream, in which she was wandering the halls of the Tower, all suspiciously empty. She didn’t see a soul, at least not until Bucky peered around a corner at her, and he was wearing his mask and those goggles—with the notch from Natasha’s bullet on one lens. Of course, by the time she’d lunged around the corner, he was gone, just his foot visible as he darted away. And JARVIS began talking her in circles, almost as though the program was doing it on purpose, until finally she was lost in her own home. Her dream self punched clean through the wall, but the wall merely cracked and crumbled until there was a soft, soggy hole. And Bucky was gone. The wall continued to crackle—

            She woke with a start, but the crackling sound didn’t stop. In fact, she realized, as she lay there, that it was coming from their apartment—the front door to be exact.

            Her heart broke into a sprint, and she sat up as quickly and quietly as possible, one hand taking up the SIG and the other wrapping, ready, around the lamp switch. She didn’t bother trying to figure out how someone from HYDRA had gained access to the Tower, but it hardly mattered.

            How appropriate—and _lucky_ —that she’d thought to sleep with his SIG.

            She jumped slightly as the crackling stopped, not daring to call out to JARVIS, and tightened her hand around the gun, folding her fingers until it sat comfortably without constricting her aim. He’d told her that her aim wasn’t bad, considering she’d never held a gun before, but those words from the world’s premiere sniper had sounded pretty good at the time. Now, she was less than sure. But it was better than nothing and short range was at least a little easier to work with.

            If Lukin thought he was about to get the jump on a cute little woman, he was about to have a fucking _SIG_ in his goddamn face.

            The shadow moved easily into the room, quick and fluid, and she held her breath and flicked the switch on the lamp—

            She let a small shriek escape as she centered the gun across the room, the sight level with _Bucky’s_ heart.


	5. Hurdles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. Here we go. Shit's getting real, now. Lemme know how it goes...Oh, and please don't hate me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so awesome! Hope you enjoy! I'm sitting here watching Iron Man 2 as I post this, and am super glad there are Tony feels in this story. I'm very attached to him. ;) Let me know how you like!

Her heart skipped, twice in a row, everything in her going rigid as she stared, wide-eyed, at her fiancé.

            He held out a hand, totally calm, but wincing gently. “There’s no safety on the SIG!”

            She tightened her grip, fear trickling through her, shock that the idea to immediately drop the gun _didn’t_ come naturally. “I _know_ that!” she snapped.

            He swallowed, but relaxed, his eyes not on the firearm, but her face. “It’s only me.”

            She gasped out a shaking breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but _all_ of you?”

            A wry smile curled the side of his mouth. “ _All_ of me. But you hold the SIG well. Looks good on you.”

            Her heart was trying to beat a fast track out of her chest, the quick way, through her sternum. “ _Don’t_. Don’t joke. Not _now_. Is it _you_?” She swallowed, and the ache was back in her throat again, harder than ever. “ _I’m_ _sorry_.” Tears shivered into her eyes and threatened to spill.

            He began edging toward her, hands up. He was still dressed all in black. “It’s alright. I’d be worried if you _didn’t_ react this way, doll.”

            “ _Don’t_!” She jumped as he took another step, cocking the weapon with an assaulting snick in the silent room. Somewhere in her head, she was painfully aware that the sight of him was doing strange things to her body. She was _terrified_. She was _angry_. She was so terribly _turned_ _on_ , she could barely think straight. “ _Don’t_. Call me ‘doll’.” A tear slipped over the edge and trickled down her cheek. Then another.

            He winced again, and took a breath, his eyes steady as he took another slow step. “It’s only me. You wanna ask me something—go on.”

            She thought for a moment, the gun steady in her hand. “My ex. What was his name?”

            His face changed, and his eyes went dark at the reminder, and he snarled low in his throat. “ _Daniel_. The fucker.”

            With a shuddering gasp, she lowered the SIG to the bed and raised her other hand to her face, withering and covering her mouth as the soft sobs began shaking free of her trembling chest.

            He crossed the rest of the distance quickly and took her in his arms, murmuring to her as he brushed the SIG carefully across the blankets. “It’s alright. It’s only me. Sshhh…” He brushed away the moisture on her face with his thumbs and gazed into her eyes, hard. “See? _Just_ me, it’s just _me_. Just Jamie. It’s just your Jamie.”

            She wheezed in the act of trying to hold it all in, but failed miserably, and pressed her face against his shoulder, trembling.

            He wrapped his arms around her and slid closer, rocking her gently. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

            “Where the _fuck_ have you _been_?!” she rasped brokenly against the long-sleeved black shirt that clung to his frame. “How did you even get in?!”

            “JARVIS and I have a little understanding. Don’t we, JARVIS?”

            “ _Indeed, Sir. As a point of curiosity, I might let you know that your skills in the art of lock picking may have slipped slightly. Your entry into the apartment came in just under one minute, compared with your last timed test of sixteen seconds_.”

Bucky made an annoyed grunt in the back of his throat.

“ _Might I be of further service, Mr. Barnes_?”

            She clutched desperately at him. “Shut up, JARVIS.”

            “ _Very well, Miss Lewis_.”

            “He’s such an _ass_ …” She sniffled, her nails digging into his shoulder blades. And it all came crashing down around her, the adrenaline giving way to raw clarity. “ _I held a gun to your your chest!_ ”

            He held her tighter. “It’s _alright_ , sweetheart, it’s alright,” he soothed. “JARVIS, privacy protocols, please.”

            “ _Of course, Sir. Sound proofing in effect, as we discussed_.”

            She fell apart in his arms, vaguely aware that she was blubbering like an idiot. But she couldn’t stop. “I held a gun to your chest! I could’ve _shot_ you!”

            “I’m wearing a vest, love,” he said, quietly. “It’s thin, you can’t really tell. In fact, when this is over, I’m hoping I can smuggle it out for Tony. He’s gonna wanna see this thing.”

            “ _Shut up_!”

            He laughed softly, pressing his face into her neck, and he took a deep, deep breath. “ _God_ , it feels good to hold you.”

            She sniffled, burrowing, trying to get closer.

            He scooped her easily up and set her in his lap, wrapping her again in his embrace.

            Gradually, she calmed. “I could’ve _shot_ you!”

            He shrugged. “Your aim’s pretty good, but the odds of you hitting me in the head before I ducked are pretty slim, babe.”

            She pulled back to look up into his face, and her hands came up, too, her fingers lining his features. Her eyes were bright with emotion. “It’s really you,” she whispered.

            “It’s really me,” he whispered back.

            She bit her lip. “Where have you _been_?”

            “HYDRA.”

            The word fell, hard, between them, and she flinched back.

            He tightened his embrace. “It’s _me_! It’s _only_ me, Darce!”

            She swallowed. “So, _what_? They…didn’t try to mind rape you again?”

            He shrugged. “Well, there was the flamethrower. Someone got in close and stuck me with something, because when I woke up, I…” He shook his head. “I was _elsewhere_. They kept me pretty doped up for a few days, I was in and out. But…”

            “The… _machine_?”

            A shadow passed over his eyes. “No. There was arguing, Lukin and someone else, a voice I couldn’t place…sounded vaguely familiar. But…they thought I was too drugged to put up any sort of fight. Lukin’s such an ass, he never bothered reading any of Pierce’s notes. If he had, he’d have known that over the years, I’ve built up a tolerance to Phencyclidine.”

She frowned. “What?”

“PCP,” he supplied.

She nodded, catching on.

“My metabolism burns right through it. Doesn’t make me suggestible at all anymore, doesn’t even effect my memory. And I figured I’d mastered the art over the years, so when he started throwing out what he thought were magic phrases…I faked it.”

            She slumped. “ _That’s it? You faked it?!”_

            He shrugged.

            “After _all that_? We’ve been here scrambling, and you _faked_ it?!” The idea that this was like some ludicrous movie plot was lost somewhere in the back of her sleep-starved mind. “And they were content to _believe_ you?!”

            “Well, _no_. That’s why I’ve been AWOL. I had to work my way back up, and wait until they fully trusted me again. As it is, I’m supposed to be getting them information as we speak. But fuck that, it’s been almost two weeks, I wasn’t about to stay away.”

            “But…but all those people…”

            He grinned. “I knew you’d follow the breadcrumbs.”

            “But they’ll know that you didn’t kill them!”

            He shook his head. “No, they won’t. I picked that warehouse because it’s totally off the grid. I watched Steve and Tony move them, they’re secure in that safe house until we can figure this out.”

            She sighed. “Figure _what_ out?! What’s going on?!”

            He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure, yet. They haven’t told me the plan. But they wanted some of the premiere minds in the world off the map first. I think they were all people they tried to recruit, but when they refused they were eliminated. Or, you know, would’ve been.” He gave an impish shrug. “I think they’re putting the wheels in motion. I stuck around to try and figure it out. They’ve got something major they want me to do.”

            “Who, exactly, is ‘ _they’_?”

            He growled in frustration. “That’s the thing. Lukin’s not working alone, I just can’t identify who the other guy is. I know the voice, I _swear to God_ , Darce. But I can’t _place_ him. They bicker like you wouldn’t believe, worse than me and Stevie. They _hate_ each other. He might be European, he’s got an accent. Swiss, German, maybe. I don’t know, but I can never see him, he’s always out of sight.”

            “And they just think that you’re… _Him_ , again?”

            He shrugged. “Neither of them have that much first-hand experience with the Winter Soldier, Darce. That was all Karpov. Pierce. And Zola before him. They say jump, I jump, and why should they doubt?”

            She sighed, slumping to stare down into her lap, where her hands were all twisted up.

            This was all so completely insane.

            “Where’s your ring?” His voice had softened.

            She reached up and pulled it out of her collar on its chain. “Was too hard to wear it. I, uh…I was very much _not_ Darcy Lewis.”

            He cocked his head. “What?”

            She bit her lip. “I, um…I fell apart pretty hard. Tony had to scrape me off the floor. And Steve. And Nat.” Her voice drifted, quieter and quieter, until she was sure that he only heard her thanks to his enhanced senses.

            He sighed, hard, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry, baby. I wanted to come back, _so_ bad. I had to wait. I’m _sorry_.”

            She swallowed. “Maria, she…” She couldn’t say it.

            “What?” he whispered.

            “ _Maria_ …she…” She took a deep breath. “She thinks…” More damn tears, and her throat closed again, even as she pushed, and it all rushed out. “She’s _convinced_ I was an op, she’s convinced you _seduced_ me to work your way into the Tower, she thinks you’ve _defected_!”

            He went stiff and still and silent.

            “We fought! _Everyone’s_ pissed at her, we’ve all been _desperately_ trying to find you! Tony’s tearing his hair out, Steve’s right back to post-Triskelion, and I’ve just been trying so hard to tread water!”

            He carefully set her aside and was moving, like a liquid shadow again, his paces quick and deliberate, his face set.

            “ _Jamie_!” She took off after him, finally throwing herself in front of the door so he couldn’t leave again. “Jamie, _don’t_!”

            “She thinks you were a _mission_?! She thinks I only wanted to work my way into your bed?! _She thinks you’re just some cheap whore?!”_ he snarled, his voice raw and awful.

            She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so angry. He was shaking, trying to rein it in. “It’s _over_ , Jamie. _No_ _one_ agrees with her! Natasha was ready to rip her apart, and I think her and Sam might be _over_ —just let it go!”

            “ _Let it go?! Like you’re some street walker?!_ Lemme out, Darce.” He took a step closer.

            She flattened herself against the door. “ _No_! It’s _over_ , Jamie!”

            “She helped me _find_ you on New Year’s! She’s been _kind_ and _this_ is how quickly she turns her back on me— _on you_ — _on us_?!”

            She sagged. “I know. I _know_. But…just stay.” She was right back to trembling again. “Please. _Stay_. Just _stay_. God, _please_ , you’ve reduced me to a begging girl, don’t ever leave again, I _can’t stand it_.”

            He immediately softened again, sighing dejectedly as he reached out for her. “Darce…”

            She let him hold her up, her breathing rapid against his chest, and she smoothed a hand through his hair. “I _know_.”

            “I thought this was over.” His voice was low and hushed in the dark.

            “I know.”

            “ _I missed you_.”

            “I missed _you_.”

            They stood like that for what felt like an hour. Finally, she managed to gather herself.

            “Are you hungry? What do you need? You’re not hurt, are you?” His eyes were deep and sunken, exhaustion aging him by five years, and his usual light amount of dusky scruff had grown into the beginnings of a full beard. He was pale.

            He shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m _fine_.” He sighed. “I’m _exhausted_ , but I’m fine.”

            She nodded.

            “I’d like a shower, though,” he said, a little sheepishly. “And a shave.” He scratched irritably at his face. “This _beard_ is driving me _nuts_.”

            She laughed at the absurdity of it, and pulled him by the hand back through the apartment, down the hall, and to the bathroom. She leaned in to start the shower and turned it up high, the way he liked it. “I won’t distract you.”

            He laughed softly at her back, and nodded, pulling off his clothes and hanging them on the back of the door, on the hooks there. “I won’t be long.”

            “I’ll be out here.”

            She tried to read, but quickly gave up, her whole self buzzing, her mind turning everything over, her body restless at his sudden presence. So she sat there, listening to the running water and wondering how long he had.

            He was in there for a while, nearly twenty minutes, which was four times as long as he usually took. If they weren’t in there together, he was ever the soldier, in and out in five minutes, washed and ready to go. Finally the water shut off and she jumped.

            God, it was like they’d never lived together before, like she was trying to settle her nerves, like it was her first time. She had to get a grip.

            Heaving a deep sigh, he came out, a billow of steam obscuring the hallway when he opened the door, and he was towel drying his hair, another towel low on his hips. He was clean shaven, his face smooth and soft again.

            And she was staring at him unabashedly, his flawless musculature, his broad shoulders, the deep, gorgeous shape of his hips.

            He paused in the doorway. “What?”

            She knew she was blushing horribly. But she just shrugged. “I missed you.”

            He chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

            God, he was _exactly_ the same; she wasn’t sure why that was such a wonder. Maybe she’d had herself so horribly convinced of the opposite that to have him in front of her, unscathed, his eyes bright, his skin flushed, was the epitome of surreal. “Yeah.”

            He was across the room in a heartbeat, the towel dropping from around his shoulders without a thought, and Darcy was leaning back to accept him, her fingers tangling in his wet hair, and he kissed her with a quiet desperation, a sigh leaving him as soon as their lips met.

            She moaned softly, everything in her tightening, and he was barely touching her. She scooted back to make room for him, reaching blindly back to shove at the covers.

            “Doesn’t look like it’s been made since I left,” he breathed as he began mouthing kisses down her throat.

            “It hasn’t. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. Tonight was a stubborn attempt at giving my back a break.”

            He pulled back to stare at her for one long beat, his eyes sad.

            She bit her lip. “I couldn’t stand it. It was too big. And cold.”

            And he was pressing closer to her, his tongue sliding into her mouth with no hesitation at all, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers prying at the towel around his hips. She tugged it free and let it fall to the floor.

            “Well, that’s hardly fair,” he sighed against the skin of her jaw, his hands ghosting beneath her huge David Bowie t-shirt, and up, until it had come over her head and joined the towel.

            She slid off her underwear in a decidedly graceless fashion, but she didn’t care as she scrabbled against the covers and he slipped beneath them, trapping her under him, and she was sighing and moaning as he travelled down her body, not wasting any time. Yes, he liked to study and tease, he liked to draw it out, but when it all came down to it, he was just so terribly efficient, and she gasped a desperate plea as he licked a stripe up her thigh, to her hip, and stopped, his eyes dark on her as he looked up through his wet hair. His eyes lit off the chain around her neck, her ring sparkling in the low light, then up into her eyes.

            She knew she probably looked like some chick on a romance novel cover with her head thrown back, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. She’d missed him so badly, and here he was, with a snap of the fingers, warming their bed again like he’d never left.

            And apparently, him lacking context in the paperback cover area was going to work to her advantage, because he took this as a sign and didn’t bother with anymore tinkering, sliding up her body and into her in one sweet thrust.

            That next moan was probably pretty loud, in hindsight. Again, she didn’t care, and the serum only made him more desperate as he took the reins, something he rarely did, usually preferring something a bit more even-keeled.

            But no, he took charge, and she let him, wrapping a leg up, and hooking it over his hip, deepening the angle, which didn’t always work for her, but damn it if it did this time, and she needed him— _all of him_ —now, more than _ever_.

            He bit down on her collar bone, drawing her up and out. She came hard, and in record time, her body responding with desperation to any simple move he made, utterly sensitized. It cut a swath through her and he paused for a moment, watching her, before returning to her mouth for a lazy kiss.

            He gasped into her mouth and slipped his left arm beneath her back, cool, but supportive. His other hand came up to take hold of hers, twining their fingers together on the pillow as he moved in earnest, spurred on by her easy reaction.

            She gasped out a low moan with each thrust, and he took that as an affirmative, increasing with each one, until she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, and she needed to _breathe_.

            The serum. That _serum_ — _God_ , how long had it been since they’d started?!

            But she didn’t care, her throat dry and her entire body pounding with her pulse, and she wasn’t really sure which of them was breathing like that, but whoever it was it was the most _gorgeous_ sound she’d ever heard. God it _ached_ , everything ached.

            She bit her lip as he returned to her for a kiss, his mouth firm and sure. She extricated her hand and tugged her fingers through his hair, pulling and tugging, her nails slipping down his back and carving lines in the skin over his shoulder blades.

He growled in response, the feeling rumbling through her belly, against his chest. “Oh, God, have I mentioned how much I missed you?” she gasped, breathless.

“Once or twice,” he murmured into the soft skin under her jaw, and his mouth trailed away again, to get at every bit of her skin he could reach. It was building again, already, she could feel it, the drumbeat of her pulse echoing and causing ripples that reached her fingers and toes, curling and reverberating.

His warm, human hand trailed down her left side, his fingers slipping along her skin, caressing the shape of her waist, her hip, and around to her ass and her thigh, where he hitched her leg higher around him, altering the angle.

She squirmed in response to this, her nerve endings lighting up.

“Darce…” he murmured, his movements slowing as he regained some measure of control, urgency giving way to finesse as he rolled his hips against her, hitting her in the just that perfect spot.

She gasped and held her breath, biting hard down on her lip, her fingers digging into the ridges of his spine.

His mouth finally found her pulse and he closed his teeth around it just as he came, and she arched her back against him, gasping out a broken moan as it crashed down around her. As soon as she thought it was over, it tugged her back undertow, and she clutched at his back, tightening her leg to secure him closer, deeper.

            Finally, he slowed, his face pressed against her throat.

            She didn’t think she’d ever heard him breathe so hard in the entire time she’d known him. She arched her back again, basking in the fleeting sensation, trying to commit it all to memory as she ran her fingers up and down his back in a soothing motion.

            He started mouthing kisses along her neck again a moment later, before sighing and shifting down onto the bed, and she flinched as he left her. She slid over and settled there as he gathered her close to his side.

            She could think of at least three things to say as she lay there, catching her breath, not the least of which was ‘ _Oh, my freaking God’_ , but nothing seemed right. So she was silent. God, even for them, that was…

            She lost herself in the haze of post-sex bliss, could feel the cloud of serotonin flood her brain as they snuggled there, in the center of the bed.

            Of course, serum-enhanced, his breathing settled long before hers did, and he toyed with her ring on its’ chain. But eventually, her mind started turning again, and she settled her palm over his heart, felt it pulsing under her touch, steady and even. “You have to go.” It wasn’t a question.

            He looked over at the clock. After three. Then his eyes found hers and held for a long moment. “It might be our only way to take them out—from the inside.”

            She wanted to argue; wanted to find the flaw in his logic; wanted, so badly to slap him and tell him not to be so goddamn morbid and self-sacrificing, and all that shit. Instead, she nodded. He was fairly right. And there was no way, after all their time together, that she could ask him to just set aside his feelings toward HYDRA—him, of all of them. If any of them had a right to want to remove any and all traces of the organization from the face of the earth, it was him. If any of them stood a chance of dismantling them—it was him.

            She could have covered with a joke about a booty call, but didn’t. It wouldn’t be funny or cute in this context. “How long?”

            He stared solemnly down at the setting of her ring.“By six. I’ve got to scout some warehouse where they want to set up shop and get back before they realize I’ve _defected_.” His voice was wry and content. “Just a little longer.” He settled against her and shut his eyes.

            She wriggled from his embrace and slid down from the bed.

            He made a noise of disapproval, but didn’t move. Instead, he watched as she went down the hall and retrieved her Starkphone from the coffee table. His eyes followed her as she crossed back into the room. “God, you’re _gorgeous_ ,” he groaned.

            She smiled as she climbed back in and fiddled with the tech, setting the alarm for 5:30. “There. Sleep.”

            “Mm.”

            She took a deep breath.

            “You know, the jeweler at Tiffany’s thought I was nuts.”

            She frowned, confused by his sudden train of thought. “Why?”

            He smirked, his eyes slipping from the ceiling to her. “Because I walked in while he was helping someone else, looked around for a few minutes, and by the time he was done and asking if he could help me, I told him, flat out, that I wanted that one.” His eyes flitted to her ring again. “He tried to avert me a few times. Not sure why. Wanted me to pay more, wanted me to make a decision that wouldn’t have me coming back, angry two days later at the price I did paid, no idea. But after twenty minutes, he finally relented.”

            She smiled, warm calm spreading over her just listening to the sound of his voice. “And?”

            He grinned. “You should’ve seen his eyes get huge when I told him I could write him a check.”

            She laughed softly. “You didn’t.”

            He shrugged. “Yep. Get it done, no interest.”

            She readjusted her head at his shoulder. “Only you could scare a Tiffany’s jeweler.”

            “Mm.”

            But a question occurred, one that she knew she couldn’t avoid asking. “So…what was it about this one that made up your mind for you?” She had to know his logic; had to know how on earth he’d read her so perfectly.

            But he shrugged. “Looked at about a dozen of them. But this one was the first one that looked like you.”

            She looked into his eyes and found them clear and blue, and sure. “So…you went with your gut?”

            Another shrug. “Well. It’s been a rough year or so. But…it hasn’t failed me so far.”

            They slid and slipped, pressed and turned and curled up, and fell asleep instantly. She didn’t even have time to revel in the fact that she was back in his arms again, sleeping comfortably, warm and content. But, inevitably, the alarm went off, right at 5:30 on the dot.

            Darcy jumped, for a moment, not sure where she was or what had happened. But the body beside her was warm—

            And he was moving, coming slowly awake.

            Right. _Bucky_. Alive. Shower. Not brainwashed. Fantastic sex.

            She latched on for a moment while he was vulnerable and dazed, curling around his body. He stretched and his joints popped. Then he leaned down to kiss her softly on the forehead and slipped away, extricating himself gently, out of bed and back to the bathroom, where she listened to him putter around, the water running, and he came back dressed again in his black gear.

            She groaned in protest and his eyes softened. “I don’t want to go. But, here—we’re going to set up a system, okay? I’ve been giving this some thought. I’ve got a burner phone that I’ve stashed—it’s how I texted you the coordinates for the warehouse. When I can get away, I’ll send you what information I can, okay? Or I’ll call.”

            She frowned, but nodded.

            “Don’t worry if I don’t text for a while, or reply right away, okay? It might be hours—or _days_ , even—between.”

            She nodded.

            “Oh.” He snapped his fingers and went back around to his side of the bed.

            She crawled over to watch him as he pulled open the drawer to reveal an old, steel strongbox. She wanted to ask if it was as old as he was, but didn’t. He flipped it open—

            And there was a GPS tracker, tiny and clean, like it had been scrubbed.

            Her mouth dropped open. “ _You_ removed your GPS?!”

            He visibly hesitated, looking guilty. “After New Year’s, I thought it might be dangerous for me to have it after all. But I’m gonna put this on me somewhere, okay? After I’ve texted you, tell Stark about this, have him restart it, he’ll know what to do—it’s _his_ tech, after all. He’ll be able to manipulate it to work even when it’s not inserted.”

            She sighed, confused, but nodded. “Okay…?”

            He straightened. “That’s it. I gotta go.”

            She panicked. “Are you _sure_?” she asked, sitting up and sliding on her David Bowie t-shirt again.

            He smiled sadly. “Yes. I _have_ to go.” He paused as he looked at her. “I’d promise you that everything will be okay, that _I’ll_ be okay, but…I’ve never been a liar, Darce.”

            She swallowed and nodded, trying hard to ignore the lump gathering again in her throat. “I know.”

            He came back around the bed and approached, standing between her legs, and he reached gently down to tug on the chain around her neck. “Hang onto this. Okay? Might need it later.”

            She gave a damp laugh as she curled her legs loosely around him again. “Make sure I do, okay, soldier?”

            He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

            She wrapped her arms around his middle. “Don’t go,” she whispered, letting it out, the aching insecurity.

            His mouth came down on the top of her head. “I’m sorry, doll.” He whispered, nuzzling against her ear softly.

            So she shut her eyes, committing it to memory as best she could.

            “Don’t follow me out, okay? Just stay right here, like that. Don’t move.”

            She nodded.

            He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, slow and deliberate. “I love you,” he murmured.

            “I love you,” she answered, her hand closing around one of his.

            He squeezed as he backed away, and she saw that anguish in his eyes as she let him go. “Don’t lose that thing down the drain, okay?” His mouth quirked as he gestured at the ring.     

            She answered with a wan smile. “I’ll use the dishwasher.”

            He winked. “Try to go back to sleep.” And he was gone.

            Instead of falling to pieces again, she merely lay back down, numb, gathering the pillow up under her head, and curled in on herself, and somehow followed his directions.

 

            When she woke again at her normal time, her head was pounding once more, _hard_ , at the base of her skull. She groaned as she turned over and scowled at the ceiling. For a while, she lay there, trying to turn over what had happened. She knew it hadn’t been an awful dream—the SIG had been moved to his bedside table, and not by her.

            She was also deliciously sore, not that she could really enjoy it to any real degree…

            She didn’t want to think too hard about how he’d managed to gain access, even if it was simply through a short, hushed conversation with JARVIS. She also didn’t want to think too hard about the reaction Tony would have when she inevitably had to tell him.

            Sooner, rather than later, although she’d have to convince him not to activate his tracker until they got word.

            So, first things first, she dragged herself up, wincing, and got in the shower. For a long while, she stood under the too-hot spray, letting it pound down on her head and neck. It helped a little and by the time she was dressed and ready to go in her matchstick pants and cashmere sweater, the room had evened out so that the clocks didn’t look like they were melting.

            She dialed Steve as the door shut behind her.

            “Morning, Darce. What’s up?”

            “Can you meet me in Tony’s lab?”

            He paused. “Something wrong?”

            “Other than my headache, I’m not sure. Just meet me, okay? It’s important.”

            He sounded like he wanted to press her further, but didn’t. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”

            She rode the elevator down as JARVIS relayed that he had voluntarily let him in the night prior upon determining that ‘ _Sergeant Barnes’_ hadn’t been compromised, and that security was just as tight as it had ever been. She wasn’t sure what all that entailed, but was too tired to bother asking.

            When she stepped into the shop, Tony took one look at her and interrupted her morning greeting before she even spoke. “Your head again?”

            She sighed and nodded, reaching up to press at the back of her head. “I’ve had migraines, just like everyone else, but not like _this_.”

            “Here.” He pressed another little pill into her hand, followed rapidly by his coffee mug. “Throw it back. Doesn’t get better in a couple, you’re goin’ straight back home. Got it?”

            She did as she was told and nodded.

            Steve came in a moment later, softly shutting the door behind him. “Your head again?” he asked, too, brows puckered in concern. “That’s, like, what— _four_ headaches in a couple weeks? Are you okay?”

            Tony snorted. “’Course she’s not _okay_ , Capsicle. Come on, sit.”

            They did, rolling a couple chairs over.

            “Alright, Short Stack. Shoot.”

            She sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “ _Don’t. Freak. Out_.”

            Tony frowned softly. “I’ll do my best.”

            She took a deep, preparatory breath. “He was here last night.”

            Steve physically jumped and his ankle fell clean off his knee, where he’d had it bent and resting.

            Tony paused, closing his eyes to concentrate. “’He’ as in ‘ _Barnes’_ or ‘he’ as in—”

            “He hasn’t been compromised,” she said, carefully. “JARVIS let him in.”

            Tony scowled at the ceiling. “ _J_! After all we’ve been through?!”

            “ _Apologies, Sir. I was sworn to secrecy_ ,” JARVIS returned and Darcy thought he sounded a bit cheeky.

            Tony scoffed. “Who’s secrecy is higher than _mine_?!”

            “Was he okay?” Steve demanded, speaking over him.

            Darcy, wincing, held up her hands. “ _Guys_!”

            “Sorry…” Steve offered, looking sheepish.           

            She sighed. “He was fine. Or, you know, as fine as you can be with a SIG in your face.”             Tony stared. “You held a _handgun_ on him?!”

            “Do you have _any_ idea how _powerful_ that thing is?!” Steve added. “It’s a _P226 Elite_!”

            “I _know_!” she snapped again, anger buzzing and frothing up her spine out of nowhere. “For God’s sake, you two. I _trained_ with it! I know how to use it!”

            They both stared at her uncharacteristic outburst.

            “Frankly, _he_ did a better job training me than fucking _SHIELD_ did.”

            They shut their mouths, Steve so hard that she heard his jaw snap.

            She took a deep breath, trying to level out her sudden temper. “He’s fine. They drugged him on the balcony and took him. Kept him heavily doped for a few days until Lukin thought he was so out of lucidity that he wouldn’t put up a fight. He took the opportunity to fake it. They didn’t question it. They wanted him to wipe the people in the safe house off the map, so he hid them in the warehouse because it’s off the grid, and then he left us breadcrumbs. He said there’s something coming, but he doesn’t know what, yet.”

            Steve set a hand on her knee. “Are _you_ okay?”

            She sighed again. “Fine, aside from my head. Why _wouldn’t_ I be?”

            He hesitated. “Well, it must’ve been a shock.”

            “He scared the _shit_ out of me. Woke me up, I had the damn gun in his face for five minutes before he convinced me he was…just _him_.”

            Tony was scowling as he concentrated. “Then what?”

            She snorted. “He showered, I finally slept in the damn bed for a few hours, and he left again.”

            Tony opened his mouth and Darcy got the feeling he was resisting the opportunity to make that booty call comment.

            Steve sighed and sat back. “Okay. So…where does this leave us?”

            She shook her head. “Not sure yet. He said he’d already set up a burner that he’s got stashed—that’s how he sent me those coordinates—and he said he’d be in contact when he could. He had to wait until he was sure they trusted him again.”

“ _’They’_?” Steve prompted.

“Lukin, like I said. And he said there was another guy there, a man, but he said he’s never within eyesight, but that his voice sounds familiar, though he can’t place it. There’s an accent, he thinks. Swiss, maybe German?”

“Okay. _And_?”

She sighed again. “He left really early. He was supposed to be scouting another location where they could set up shop.”

“Where? Did he say?”

“No, but there was something else.” She studied them both in turn. “ _He_ removed his tracker. _Himself_.”

Tony’s jaw dropped open. “ _What_?”

“I’m…confused,” Steve said.

She rubbed at her temple, where the pressure was finally easing in her skull. “That makes _two_ of us. He said that he didn’t think it was safe, after the New Year’s fiasco, but I think there was something else, something he didn’t tell me. He looked… _scared_.”

Steve frowned again. “Of what?”

She shrugged. “No idea. He looked pretty spooked, which is saying something for him. But he removed it. He had it in this ancient strongbox—”

“ _That’s_ why I was getting weird readings!” Tony exclaimed. “The signal wasn’t _broken_ , it was _blocked_! Steel sometimes has that effect, the thicker, the better.”

“He took it with him. He said he would make contact when he thought it was safe and an appropriate time to relay information. That way we can keep track of where he is—where they are. He said you could rig it to work even without being inserted? But he said don’t restart it or triangulate until he gives the signal.”

Tony nodded, but scowled. “Why not no—”

She reached out for him. “ _Please_ , Tony. We don’t…we don’t know how deep he is. I don’t want to give HYDRA any reason to doubt him, I don’t wanna know what they’ll do to him.”

He stared into her eyes for a long, long moment, hesitating. “Short Stack…”

She took a deep breath. “ _Please_ , Tony.”

He sighed. “Okay. _Alright_. But I don’t care what time it is, as soon as he texts you, you come and you get me. Got that?”

She nodded. “Loud and clear.”

Neither of them argued further. And neither of them asked why he’d even bothered to go back. They were smart, clever men. And they knew Bucky well. She was grateful they turned that over and accepted it for what it was without making her trauma any worse.

Tony looked so warm and fuzzy and concerned, she wasn’t sure when he’d gone from arrogant Tony Stark, her boss, to cuddly father figure. “How’s your head, Short Stack?” His hand slid up her arm and squeezed.

“Better, now that I got all of that out.”

“Are you okay? Like, really, okay? I mean, you’ve been worrying yourself sick, he finally shows up, and then…all this.”

She bit her lip. “I’ll be _fine_.” She shrugged and snorted humorlessly. “Gotta have a tougher shell than this if I’m gonna _marry_ him, I s’pose.”

“You still _want_ to?” Tony asked, but his face was clear and earnest.

She nodded, exhausted. “Figured there’d be crap, but I didn’t think it would be like _this_.” She looked up at him. “You still think I’m the glue?”

He gave her a wan smile. “You’re Rubber Cement, Short Stack.”

She leaned forward to set her face in her hands, groaning into her lap. “Ugh, _God_.”

It was silent for a moment, Steve’s hand on her back.

But he could never stand silence for long, and he finally lost his battle. “Was it at least a good booty call?”

“ _Stark_!”

She snorted a tired laugh, her shoulders shaking. “Yeah.”

Tony snickered. “Thought so.”

Steve sighed. “Well, there’s that, anyway.”

She jerked up to stare at him incredulously.

But he looked uncharacteristically impish as he shrugged. “Well, it’s true.”

She shook her head. “This is the _weirdest_ conversation I’ve had in a while—and that’s really _saying_ something.”

“But why did he go back?” Steve suddenly wondered, then, his voice strained in confusion as he voiced the thought anyway.

Darcy sighed, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. It figured.

“Steve.”

It was serious if Tony was using the Captain’s first name.

“C’mon. It’s HYDRA. He went back to try and give us an edge. The more intel we have on their inner workings, the better. If he can be our man on the inside when all this comes to a head, that’s better still.”

Thank God for Tony Stark.

Steve grumbled under his breath. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Go on home, Short Stack. Go sleep, let me know how that noggin is when you wake up, okay? There’s nothing much to do, it’s just gonna be me battling the drone from hell, again.”

She sighed and stood, lurching for a moment until Steve caught her.

“ _Whoa_! I’ll walk you back, okay, Darce?”

“God, my _head_ …”

They went slow down the hall, JARVIS took pity on her in the elevator, and slowed his pace, and then Steve was tucking her in and shutting the door as he left. She didn’t wake for three hours. When she finally did, it was to find a still steaming cup of coffee waiting for her with a note from Tony and another tiny pill. ‘ ** _Tiny pill for tiny girl’_** , it said in his messy scrawl, and she smiled.

She knocked it back and took a circuit around the apartment to stretch. At least three joints popped and her knee protested vociferously, but she rolled her eyes and ignored it.

On her second route through, she noticed the light on her Starkphone blinking, and frowned. She had to have been out, cold, for its jingling and jangling not to have woken her. She swiped it, unlocked it and opened the window. ‘ _Missed call’_. She frowned. ‘ _Voicemail’_. She scowled, but hit the button and waited.

“Hey…it’s me,” came his voice from the recording. As if she wouldn’t recognize his gentle baritone anywhere.

It stung, and she swallowed against the ache as she sat down on the couch, wrapping her other arm around herself, suddenly freezing again, her head a dull pulse in her ears.

“I don’t know how long I’ve got to talk on this thing. Knowing Stark, I’ve got three hours of blank space ahead of me.” He snorted lazily. “I know he probably kicked you out of the lab and you’re probably asleep. Least I _hope_ you are. You looked pretty exhausted last night, and I…I hate that it’s my fault. I just, um…I just wanted to hear your voice. I guess.”

He spoke so softly, and he sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable and unsure of himself. “I’d apologize that we’re in this situation again, but I know you’d tell me to shut up, so, I guess I won’t.”

She laughed sadly. “Damn straight.”

He sighed. “I miss you. _Hard_. It’s been so long since I felt that way that it took me a while to realize what the ache in my chest was. Felt like an idiot.”

“You _are_ ,” she retorted.

“I know I am, anyway, but…”

She smiled.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, about that song you had on the other day, I think it was _The Beatles_. The one about…a way to get home. I just…I don’t want you to think that…last night was easier for me than it was for you. I know, sometimes, I’m good at being…emotionally distant. I guess I could just blame HYDRA. Or the _Winter Soldier_ , but I’ve done that so many times now, I feel like it sounds like a cop-out. And I…it was just _really_ hard…to leave you.” His voice had gone rough and thready, and he sucked in a sharp breath as he cleared his throat. “And you didn’t argue. Because you know that I can take them out from within, or I at least have to try. You didn’t argue. Thank you…for that.”

She ducked her head as she listened, trying to fold in on herself again.

“The idea that you could be unsure of me on _any_ level stings, the idea that you might wonder if you really were just some… _mission_. I don’t know whether I want to punch Maria in the face or just…”

The words hovered there on his tongue; she could _feel_ them. _Let you go_. The ache in her throat tightened. But he didn’t say it.

“Maybe I’m just a selfish bastard,” he muttered.

The ache tightened.

“The idea that _anyone_ might think that…what I…feel for you is…manufactured. There isn’t a word for the way that makes me feel. That anyone should seek to put a cheap label on the fact that you teased me back out of the husk of what was left of me is such a _stupid_ idea that I can’t even wrap my head around it.”

She took a deep breath and sat back on the couch, forcing herself to loosen.

“And I can’t fix…that. At least, not from here, and I’m so _tired_ …so tired. Darce, _I’m so tired_. I feel like I haven’t stopped running, not really, not since that day on the helicarrier, I don’t think I’ve ever felt settled since, unless…unless _you_ were there. You centered _everything_ , you brought everything into sharp focus. I feel like I’m adrift out here. And it’s so _fucking_ cold. Last week, I fantasized so hard about just sitting on the damn couch.”

She laughed softly, a tear slipping down her cheek.

“You know, after Steve found me, he kept talking, all the way back to the Tower, about how things were gonna be normal now. I don’t think this is what he meant. Then again, I don’t think he took you into consideration either.” He snorted softly, and his voice softened further. “I guess I don’t…know quite what to do, now, where to go from here. I guess I got a little comfortable, didn’t I? Let my guard down with you.”

He took a deep breath. There was no background noise, or very little, and she thought she heard just the soft drone of traffic and wondered where he was. “I just… _wanted_ you. I thought that was so…simple, to _want someone_ , after all this time. It was probably unbearably naïve of me to think that, and Stevie’s always been the naïve one, not me.” A long pause. “I’m rambling, like you do when you’re nervous.”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

“I’m just…I’m gonna _fix_ this. When all this is over, I’m gonna find a way to fix it. I don’t know how, but I _will_. Okay? I’m gonna _fix_ this for you.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” she murmured.

“Anyway. I have to go. _Again_. It’ll probably be a couple days before I can get away again, okay? So this will just have to suffice that I’m…alive. I’ll text you when I’m in place so Tony can triangulate my tracker again, okay?”

She sighed heavily.

“…I love you. Not that that really helps right now, I guess.”

“It _does_.”

“I love you.”

There was a gentle beep telling her she’d reached the end of her new messages and the screen lit up, asking her if she wanted to save or delete. Her heart heavy all over again, she hit the save button and curled back up on the couch like a girl, and bit back a harsh sob.

 

When she woke again the next morning, her vision was actually blurry from the pain in her head. She sat up and blindly reached for another of Tony’s pills, but found that she’d taken the one he’d given her.

Groaning, she hauled herself up and dragged herself through her morning routine, wincing and flinching, and wondering if Advil would help even the slightest. She finally collapsed with her phone and attempted to call Tony, but he didn’t answer.

So she went to meet him at his shop. “Tony. _God_ , I need one of those pills again, those magic pills of yours, they work _miracles_ , dude,” she gasped as she came around the corner into the room.

He reared back as he saw her, his eyes wide in horror, and she wondered how she looked. “Holy _mother_ — _Short Stack_!”

But he wasn’t alone. Maria turned around and eyed her through narrowed slits, her mouth tightening. “You can’t knock, Darcy?” she snapped.

But Tony scoffed and shoved her roughly out the way. “Come here, Darcy. _Sit_. God, your _eyes_.”

“What about ‘em?” she asked, her voice a thin rasp.

“Totally blown, can’t see a lick of iris in either one.” He set his hand to her forehead and took up her wrist with his other. “Your pulse is thready.” He leaned over her, his eyes stern but soft. “There’s nothing you wanna tell me, is there?”

She groaned, knowing exactly what he was implying. “I’m not _knocked_ _up_ , Tony. _God_.”

He turned to Maria. “Go and get Steve. And Bruce, we’re gonna need the good doctor, I think.”

Maria rolled her eyes and stuck out her hip, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is _stupid_ , Stark. You want to waste SHIELD time on a case of _PMS_?”

“Just _go_ , Maria! _Who’s_ paying you? Have you _forgotten_?” he snapped in a very un-Tony-like fashion.

Darcy flinched and groaned. “ _Don’t yell, oh, God_.”

“Sorry, Short Stack.”

“I don’t _care_ who’s paying me, Stark. I think I could probably take any job I wanted over at the CIA, don’t you think?”

He snarled in her general direction. “JARVIS?”

“ _Right away, Sir_ ,” JARVIS answered. After a short pause, he said, “ _Doctor Banner and Captain Rogers have been dispatched, Sir._ ”

“Can you lay back a little, sweetie?”

She tried to relax in the chair but leaning back made the room spin. Her head gave a sharp throb, and she couldn’t stop the wailing plea that escaped through her mouth. “Oh, _God_ …” she gasped, folding in on herself, her free hand curling around the back of her head. “Oh, _God_ …”

“What the _fuck_ is going on?!” Tony was saying, mostly to himself. “This can’t all be stress related.”

Maria snorted. “Don’t be so quick. Some girls can’t handle this sort of life. If she can’t get a handle on her _stray dog_ , she’s gonna have to go.”

Darcy stiffened, the pain sharpening to a needle point before winking and fading into the background. She stood, her vision clearing, and she was barely aware of her own movements as she crossed the room, robotic.

In rapid succession, she clipped Maria in the jaw, shoved her back bodily into the wall and had wedged her elbow beneath her chin, against her windpipe.

When Maria—wide-eyed—reached up to block her, but Darcy easily bent and tugged at the other woman’s elbow, bending it back on her and around her back, until she cried out in pain and attempted to slither down the wall against the unnatural angle.

But Darcy had her in an iron grip, her other fist grasping like a vice around her uniform. And she pressed, viciously, down, her ears ringing, the blood rushing in her head as she crushed her windpipe.

Maria gurgled and gasped, her throat working desperately as her eyes went huge—

Tony was tugging at her with alarm, yelling something unintelligible—

There was no fuzzy white noise; there was no dimming of the sound in the room, no black tendrils grasping at her. Her vision simply winked out and she went down like a stone.


	6. Second Straightaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of discussion. Lots of worrying. Lots of Tony=adorable, awkward, father figure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. I'm back! Told you I wouldn't make you wait long. I was uploading like gangbusters because I wanted to make sure I caught up to where I was at over at FFN. So, in case anyone missed it before, I am cross-posted over there--same name, just with spaces. I have to admit, at the risk of posting prematurely, even though it's all bare-bones written, I probably won't be updating as quickly from here on out. Wish I could give you guys a chapter estimate, but I'm honestly not sure just how it's going to fall yet. There are at least four more, at my guesstimation.
> 
> Here's the semi-big reveal that seems to have been driving a few of you bonkers (I'll admit, I was a little surprised it was nagging so much at everyone--but cool!) Hope it all makes sense. I'll admit, no matter how much research you do, it never feels like enough, so I really hope this all works. If you don't think it does, then hey--It's fan fiction. Just squint and pretend. :) Let me know how you like. :) Oh--and don't hate me for the comments at the very end. You'll know them when you get there. Seemed like appropriate characterization, and nothing more. lol ;)

She came around slowly, through a web of sludge, and it was a long trek in the blackness. The muck was sticky, and it clung, like swampy tendrils, to the pieces of her mind that had already slipped free. The pain in her head had eased, but it seemed to have centered along the back of her neck, now, above her spine. It throbbed dully.

“She waking up, Tony?”

“I don’t know. _God_ , Rogers…What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you saw her. That was… _insanity_. No way was that emotional stress.”

“You think it was something else?”

A deep sigh. “I dunno. All I know is, training or not, I’ve never seen her do _anything_ like that before. Darcy, she’s mellow, she’s tough, she ain’t no slouch. But that…that was like…that was like _him_.”

“Like _who_ , Tony? What are you saying?”

“When you came in, what did you see?”

“Darcy trying to crush Maria’s windpipe. I’d say it pissed me off, and I’m glad Maria’s okay, but…”

“ _No_ , Steve. It didn’t _remind_ you of _someone_ else? No visible emotion? Automatic, vicious response? Utterly efficient in striking maneuvers?”

There was a long pause. “…She did look a little… _vacant_. Empty.”

“ _Pure rage_. Single-minded. Cap, he _trained_ her, but it’s not like he could _make_ her do that, let alone…react _just like him_. Being _engaged_ to the Winter Soldier doesn’t suddenly _make her the Winter Soldier_. So how was she doing that?”

“So…what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need to figure out how her tracking chip failed.”

“Yeah, but you’re quick wit _already_ figured it out, Tony. You got it out. You can’t possibly figure out how that thing was affecting her brain patterns, can you?”

“…I dunno, Cap. I should’ve seen this coming.”

“ _How_ could you have seen this coming, Tony?”

Another deep sigh. “I dunno. Barnes had the forethought to take his out. This one over here, I’m so busy worrying about her, I don’t put two and two together. She could’ve _died_. _One_ more ounce of pressure in her pretty little head, Steve… _She’d have stroked out, and I don’t know if she could’ve come back from that!”_   Something shook then smashed.

“ _Tony_! Calm down. _None_ of this is your fault.”

“ _Isn’t_ it? It’s _my_ tech. It’s _flawed_ tech. Goddamn HYDRA. They’re everywhere. Fucking bastards. You don’t think it’s weird that they take him, _now_ , and then they manipulate her chip? You don’t think it’s ironic that he stayed in to take them out from the _inside_ , when _she_ was clearly meant to take us out from in here?”

“God, Tony, this is giving me a headache—”

She groaned, frowning as she finally was able to peel her eyelids open.

Steve was bent over her, a worried little smile on his face. “Hey, there, doll.”

Tony frowned. “Not ‘ _doll’_. ‘Short Stack.’ ‘Doll’s’ been taken. Be more original.”

Steve sighed. “How you feeling, Darce?”

She groaned again, finally taking in the room. She was in the infirmary, the lights low, and the blankets pulled up around her body. There was a clamp around her left middle finger and a beeping machine somewhere to her left. “Like a semi-truck full of ready-mix cement ran over me.”

“How’s your head, sweetie?” Tony asked, peering at the machines.

She groaned. “Why does my neck hurt?”

Tony hit a button on the monitor and took up her hand. “Later. Okay?”

Bruce blew in, his lab coat billowing behind him. “She awake?”

“Sort of,” Steve said quietly, his brow puckered.

He came over and peered at the machines. “Her pulse is steady. So is her heart rate.”

“Wassit fucked up before?” she slurred, letting her head drop back; it was so heavy.

Bruce smirked wanly. “Pretty much, Darcy. You passed out. You were tachy.”

“Just about choked Maria, there, Short Stack.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “She dead?”

Steve snorted. “No. Lucky thing.”

“Yeah, Cap’s right—that would’ve been a shit-ton of paperwork for you later.”

She groaned. “Somebody tell me what happened.”

There was a long moment of silence as she squeezed her eyes shut.

“Don’t give each other meaningful looks and purse your lips,” she sighed. “Just _say_ it.”

“You, uh…don’t remember?” Tony asked.

“It’s all in snatches. It’s fuzzy.”

“…Something else in common, then,” the inventor muttered.

“In common _with_ …?” she prompted, finally peeling her eyes open.

Tony sighed. “I think there’s something up with your tracker. That’s why you’ve been getting the headaches—I removed it,” he assured her as she opened her mouth. “I removed it as _soon_ as I thought of it.”

She sighed. “So…?”

He looked away. “I think maybe HYDRA was hacking into it, somehow, trying to make you suggestible. That would explain the growing intensity of the pain, it would explain you suddenly snapping and going all ‘ _Resistance is futile'_ on Hill.”

She frowned, her brain still foggy and thick. “They were hacking my _brain_?”

“Altering your brain patterns, maybe, yeah. Wouldn’t put it past ‘em, to be honest. Darce, you took out Maria in about three moves. I’ve never seen anything like it, except…maybe on your silver-armed stallion boy-toy.”

“He’d _love_ that nickname, Tony.” She let her head flop back again, wincing. “Yeah, _Darcy Lewis: Winter Soldier, 2.0._ ”

“Little bit, yeah,” Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair.

She rolled her eyes. “Guys, _please_. If he wanted to, he could break me into a box of _Cracker Jack_. And you think _I’m_ capable of that?”

They were silent.

She sighed. “ _Guys_ ,” she repeated, more firmly.

Tony shrugged. “I dunno, Short Stack. You were pretty scary.”

“Bruce. Tell me these two are paranoid.”

Bruce froze at being addressed in the middle of paperwork. “Uuhhh…Well, Darcy, there’s really no way to gage the efficacy of an attempt like that. Again, we’re in the deep end with theoretical science. We know it’s possible to alter an individual’s brainwaves through what amounts to electrical pulsations, different wavelengths. It’s a little difficult to explain. Furthermore, as I’ve stated in the past, HYDRA is, unfortunately, scientifically ahead of us in the game. That’s the one area where SHIELD lacks an edge on them.”

She shut her eyes and tried to straighten out her thoughts. “That’s why he removed his. He was thinking ahead.”

“Probably.” Bruce shrugged. “Considering he went back in without it for a safety net was brave, regardless of potential manipulation. If anyone can take them out from within, it’s him.

“Smart kid,” Tony said.

“What about Maria?”

Bruce shrugged. “She’ll be fine. She’s got some lacerations on her larynx, an enflamed trachea, but she’ll be fine. No permanent damage done.” He offered a kind smile.

“Except maybe to her ego…” Tony snarked, smirking. “Maybe she’ll recant some of her earlier statements, hm?”

“Don’t think that would soften Sam at this point, though,” Steve interjected.

She groaned again, finally extricating her arm to reach up for her neck.

“Careful,” Tony murmured, his brows drawn together.

Gently, she explored the flesh below her brainstem, finding a tiny, half-inch incision, neatly sewn in an itty-bitty strip. “So much for GPS,” she muttered.

Tony looked up. “Would you guys mind, uh…giving us a sec?”

Steve and Bruce looked at each other, but didn’t argue, and shuffled quietly out of the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

Tony sighed out a deep breath and took up her hand again.

“You’re being uncharacteristically fluffy, here, boss,” she quipped. “What’s up, dude?”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “I worry about you, kid.”

“Why?” She wriggled around, and scowled as her head throbbed argumentatively. “Help me up.”

He took her up by her shoulders and helped her sit forward, then used one hand to pile her pillows at her back. “Better?”

She reached up to press the heel of her hand to the bit of skull behind her ear. “ _Ugh_. Yeah.”

“You were getting these headaches before they took him, weren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think much of it, really. I always get them just after my period.” She winced. “Sorry. TMI. _Not_ something you tell your boss-man.”

He laughed. “That’s _nothin’_ , Short Stack. I heard him ask you if you were alright at that last debriefing. They’ve been messing with you for a while, then, safe to say.”

She shrugged. “Why bother getting to him through me when they can just get to both of us for shits and giggles? Probably sore over missing us on New Year’s.”

The wheels in his head were visibly turning. “Mm. Yeah.”

“What’s up, boss-man? You’re head’s ticking. You gonna self-destruct in ten seconds? Lemme know so I can take cover.”

He squeezed her hand. “Should’ve spotted the pattern earlier.”

She rolled her eyes. “What _is_ it with the men in this Tower blaming themselves for everything? Steve feels guilty about Bucky. Bucky feels guilty for pulling me into his shit. Now, _you_ feel guilty for _this_? _God_. You guys are masochists.”

Tony gave her a pained smile.

“Steve didn’t shove Bucky off that train. Bucky didn’t ask to be _mind-raped_. And _you_ aren’t going to catch every little piece of sneaky shit that HYDRA gets up to. That’s why they’re evil masterminds, Tony. Besides, I’m a big girl. I should’ve noticed the pattern just as much as I made the choice to say ‘ _yes’_. I’m not gonna let some evil organization out of a movie bully me from marrying my man. It’s that simple. If that means I’m gonna have to climb through some nasty shit, then _that’s_ what I’ll do. Then, it’s a good thing I’ve got some mad sexy pairs of shoes.”

Tony sighed. “Your mind works in mysterious ways, Short Stack.” But his smile was uncharacteristically soft and kind. She’d only seen him look at Pepper that way. “You scared me, kid.”

She couldn’t look away. “Why?”

He shrugged and looked away, down into his lap. “Eh, you brought something weird outta me.”

Might as well. “Latent paternal instinct, perhaps?”

Another nervous little chuckle. “God, you remind me of myself at your age.”

“Well, father figure works for me. Was never close with the real guy, so what’s the difference?”

His other hand came up to cup her hand and squeeze. “You gonna be okay, kid? I need you to be okay.”

“How can I _not_ be with _Tony Fuckin’ Stark_ looking out for me?”

He actually leaned over and hugged her, tight, and for longer than ten-Mississippi’s.

Bruce was adamant about keeping her overnight for observation, and he was unable to talk Tony out of leaving to go sleep at home with Pepper.

Steve kissed her on the cheek and left her for the night.

Pepper called to tell her to feel better and then she insisted Tony stay and that she still had a lot of work to do, anyway. She’d been working her little ass off trying to keep their teammate’s disappearance out of the press.

She fell asleep with a strange ease in the dimmed infirmary, Tony’s face lit up as he worked on his tablet, poking and prodding, swiping, tapping and grumbling under his breath. His presence at the bedside was warm and comfortable.

She dreamed. She wandered, really, from conversation to conversation, and she couldn’t tell if they were real, memories, or something else, something strange. Everything was hazy and out of focus.

Steve was there, talking to Natasha. “He kept saying that it was _Operation: Paperclip_. It was like he was trying to say something else.”

“But how much can we believe the ramblings of a madman, Steve?”

“What if he _wasn’t_ mad, though? What don’t we know about _Operation: Paperclip_? What didn’t _Peggy_ know about her _own_ operation, Nat?”

Tony wandered through, scowling from beside her bed. “That’s not right…no, that’s not right either. How the fuck did they hack my tech, J? And how did you not notice? What kind of game are they playing? Put this at the top of the list tomorrow, J—track down records on who else in the building’s got a tracker, okay? I know Steve-o’s got one, but I need to know if anyone else is vulnerable, okay?”

“ _Of course, Sir_.”

And Bucky was there, sitting suddenly on the other side of her bed, his face pinched in concern and discomfort. “Buck?” she rasped.

He leaned forward, settling his elbows on the bed, and took up her hand in both of his. “I feel like I put you here.”

“Ugh. _Stop_. You’re such a jerk.”

An impish grimace. “The jerk loves you, though.”

“Well, if the jerk loves me, he’ll stop saying crap like that.”

He smiled and reached out to brush a strand of her hair behind an ear. “I need you to think, now, babe. If I’m gonna take them out from the inside, and you’re here alone, I need you to think, _really_ hard.”

She grimaced, too, now, the pain in her head throbbing dully again. “About what?”

“All of it, doll. Stevie’s on the right track, but I can’t help you from here.”

She frowned as his image rippled. “What? What do you mean—you’re right there.”

He shook his head. “I can’t fix this from here. I need you to put the pieces together for me. Stevie’s on the right track— _Operation_ _Paperclip_ is the key.” He sat back.

She groaned in pain. “ _What_? What about that is supposed to help me, Jamie? Tony and I couldn’t find anything new about it in any of the databanks.”

But he wasn’t really listening; his expression had gone vacant and contemplative. “It’s funny. I could swear, up and down, that I know that voice. I’ve _heard_ it.”

“Buck—”

“The door was open, wide, and the wind, it was rushing…and I had Stevie’s shield, and the tracks, they were making the worst racket in the train car.”

 _Train_ _car_? A shiver went up her spine at his vacant look, the dazed tone of his voice. “Are you okay, Jamie?”

He was distant, gone. “It’s fuzzy, it’s…coming through in snatches…I can’t manage to grasp the tail of it, Darce. It’s right… _there_. That voice. German, I think. He must’ve been a Nazi, whoever he was. That voice…it’s in the shadows, like one of those pulp movies you made me sit through…”

She rolled her eyes. “Sherlock Holmes is not _pulp_ , Buck.”

“I can’t see his face. But it’s like…there _isn’t_ a face, it’s like there’s nothing to see…but I can hear him talking, can hear him thinking, out loud…Lukin _hates_ him.” He smirked. “That’s a plus, anyway.”

“I swear to God, Buck…”

“And those files…that open file on me, and that other guy…Steve killed him. No, he killed himself. He put his bare hand around…that square, the blue stone…that stone, it’s like…it’s self-aware. It… _devoured_ him…” He was frowning, eyes downcast in confusion.

She stared at him, alarmed. “Jamie, how do you know about any of that, baby? You weren’t there, you fell off that…train…” She blinked.

A wisp of something drifted through her mind, deja-vu, half a thought, a formless idea, vague and dim, and she snatched desperately at it, catching it between her fingers.

But it wriggled and struggled, and she was too tired to clutch it tightly enough, and it darted free, disappearing into the distance, becoming a shadow, a specter, wandering off, before it circled back on itself. She reached out again, feeling it tickle along the base of her skull, the back of her tongue.

It came closer, but the shade coalesced into a face, Lukin’s face, and he was grimacing as he stared at her. “The bait seems to have grown a sharp mind. Perhaps I underestimated her, hm? _Interesting_. Perhaps we should pull her in now, and not waste any more time?”

She shook her head, shaking the thought free, and when she came back to the room, Bucky was drifting off toward the door. “Jamie!” she called out.

He turned and gave her a sad smile as he paused in the doorway. “I gotta go, doll. You got this.”

She sighed exasperatedly. “No. I don’t. Got _what_?”

Tony was back, grumbling and ignoring them. “There’s something I’m missing. There’s a keystone bit of information at play here that I need. And it’s _missing_. It’s almost like there’s a virus in here that’s self-aware, like it’s _controlling_ her tracker…”

“Don’t go, Jamie!” she pleaded.

But he was continuing out the door. “Just don’t lose that thing down the drain, okay?”

She clutched at her ring around her neck, but suddenly it was floating, levitating, in the air in front of her face. She gasped, trying to snatch it, but her head, her head was pounding again, her pulse thudding rapidly in her ears.

The pain rose up, then, in a wave, and swallowed her whole.

 

She came awake hard, jarring, and gasping loudly.

Tony—slumped over in the seat beside her bed—jerked awake, his tablet sliding off his lap, and he lunged to catch it before it hit the floor, his eyes wide. “Darce?!”

“Schmidt!” she gasped, sitting up, ignoring the pain in her neck.

He sat forward, grabbing at the monitor. “You feelin’ better?” His other hand took up one of hers. “You okay, Short Stack?”

She was breathless. “Johann Schmidt,” she rasped, swallowing against her dry throat. “It’s _him_.”

Tony frowned. “What are you talking about, Darce?”

She pulled her other hand through her hair, but when her pulse monitor got in the way, she scowled, growled at it, and yanked it off, tossing it aside.

Tony flinched away, batting at it as it swung to the floor.

“Johan Schmidt. He’s the key.” Everything was jumbled in her head, and she was still feeling foggy, just like anyone would straight after two days worth of heavy pain medication. God, what had Bruce had her on— _morphine_?! She gripped at her head, trying to steady and clear it, squeezing her eyes shut as she concentrated.

Tony seemed not to like that. “I’m gonna go get Bru—”

“No!” She yanked on his arm and he sat hard back down in his chair. “No. I…I have to get this out. I had a dream. You were there, and Steve and Nat, and you were all trying to solve problems, but then it turned out that they were all different sides of the same problem! And Bucky—”

He stiffened. “Was that little shit here again and I didn’t know?”

She flapped a hand. “No, no.” She paused, opening her eyes. “At least, I _don’t_ think so.” She shook her head to clear it again. “No, no, but he was there, too, and he kept insisting that I could solve it, and all this crap, he was _rambling_ —or I guess, my own head was rambling—I don’t know, I just—”

Tony grabbed her shoulders and twisted her to face him. “Darcy. _Focus_.”

She took a breath, the last puzzle piece finally sifting into place. “The Red Skull. He’s still alive.”

 

Tony frowned. “ _Schmidt_? Darcy, he’s been dead for—”

“I know, I know.” She shimmied until the blankets freed her and then dropped to the floor in her socks.

Tony lunged up. “ _Whoa_ , there, Short Stack. Maybe it’s a little soon to be up.” He grabbed for her and looped an arm around her waist.

“I’m _fine_ , Tony. I’ve gotta get to Steve.” She began shuffling awkwardly to the door, Tony dragging along with her.

“Darce, how can you possibly have come to the conclusion that the Red Skull is still alive? The Tesseract—”

“I know, Tony, I know. I don’t mean, ‘living and breathing’.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t you get it?” She rolled her eyes. “Steve said all they could get out of von Strucker were mad ramblings, he kept saying, ‘It’s _Operation: Paperclip_ , it’s all _Operation: Paperclip’_! And he was wondering if there was something we’d missed, that maybe there was something strange about the whole project that maybe slipped right past under Peggy Carter’s nose?”

Tony grimaced, finally pulling her to a stop near the door. “So?”

She sighed. “What if Schmidt was preserved through _Operation: Paperclip_ , just like Arnim Zola?”

He went stiff, staring at her in hesitation. “That…would be diabolical. But why keep him quiet until now?”

She reached up to press at her neck, where her sutures were softening as her flesh healed. “That’s just it—what if he hasn’t? That ship, remember Sam said it was weird, everything was turned on, but they didn’t see a soul? Don’t you think that’s telling? And Buck, he said he could hear a second voice while he was drugged, arguing with Lukin, but that he couldn’t place it, even though it sounded familiar.”

Tony shook his head. “But I don’t think he ever even came into contact with Schmidt, Darcy. That was all Steve, after Barnes fell off that train…”

She shook her head. “But, Tony, he’s poured over every single one of those files. And his capabilities as the Winter Soldier give him a photographic memory, even _without_ taking the amnesia into account. What if that voice is up there somewhere, but he can’t quite pluck it out?”

Regardless of lack of evidence of any sort, she could see the wheels beginning to turn in Tony’s head. “That’s…an interesting bit of conjecture…”

She began again toward the door. “Okay, good, now lemme go. I’m not gonna pass out. I’m _fine_.”

He shoved her, though, unexpectedly, and caught her off-balance. “Just _sit_.”

She landed on her ass at the foot of the bed.

“ _I’ll_ go get Capsicle. Just wait here, okay, Short Stack?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded, and watched him dart out of the room.

The longer she sat there, the heavier the certainty became in her gut. It would explain so many things. The flood of activity in the past couple years. The viciousness with which they moved in to attack, each and every time. All the strange intel they’d been collecting ever since. Missing notes, strange files unearthed in back rooms.

The open file on the Red Skull on that Romanian freighter. Why would it be open when the Red Skull had died seventy years ago?

She wasn’t sure how long she waited there, wasn’t sure what time it was, but the hall outside the infirmary door was beginning to gray and recede and she knew the sunlight would soon begin its trek along the tiles in the hallway.

Finally, Tony returned, towing a scowling and arguing Steve in his wake. Natasha trailed along silently behind them, her face set in what Darcy had come to refer to as her ‘Poker Face’. She usually earned a bemused scowl from her at the Lady Gaga reference.

“Tony, this is your craziest idea yet.”

“Wasn’t mine—came from Short Stack.”

Steve stomped into the room. “ _Darcy_?!” He looked up at her incredulously. “Darcy.” His shoulders slumped. “Darce, I _watched_ Johann Schmidt explode into a huge…ball of light. The Tesseract _devoured_ him. It was _blinding_. No one could survive that.”

She raised a brow. “Just like no one could survive a fall from a train in the Swiss Alps?”

Natasha’s brow ticked up in consideration.

Steve’s jaw snapped shut audibly.

Tony propped himself up in the doorway. “Let’s just…regroup, here, guys.”

Natasha came in and sat down in the chair beside Steve. “Nice get-up, Darcy.”

She scowled down at the hospital robe she’d been forced into over her slacks and top, the outfit she’d put on two days previously as she’d stumbled down to the lab, half-blinded by pain. “Thanks, Nat.”

The spy sighed, leaning forward. “If Schmidt is down on databanks like Zola, it would explain a lot.”

Steve scowled.

“It would certainly explain the sudden strike pattern we’ve seen from them in the past year or two. Their duplicity was discovered, so they’ve come out of the woodwork with even more reckless abandon than they exhibited during the War,” Tony added.

Steve shook his head, exasperated. “Guys, _no_. I _saw_ him destroyed.”

“What if _Operation_ : _Paperclip_ started before that and he was already down in the databanks?” Darcy asked.

“They easily could’ve perfected the technology needed to do it earlier than we thought.”

Steve sighed. “Peggy would never have relented to using their technology.”

“What if it was all she had, Steve?”

His head tipped back against the observation window. “Guys, I…”

Natasha lowered her voice. “Steve. The man’s dead. You didn’t die for nothing.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Darcy felt guilt prick at her; here it was, the reason for Steve’s vociferous denial.

“You still stopped the bomb from killing millions of people, Cap,” Tony agreed. “Nothing’s gonna take that away from you. But I think Short Stack’s got a point. I think we need to look into it.” He turned and looked at her. “Anything else in that beautiful brain, kid?”

Darcy, feeling distinctly out of place now, shrugged. “No.”

He unhitched himself from the doorway, checking his watch. “Okay. Then you’re gonna go home and rest for the day. You let me know how you hold up, and maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay? Brucie’s gonna wanna get those stitches out pretty soon, so keep that in mind, too.”

She nodded and hopped down from the bed.

Steve stood.

She held out a hand, stopping him. “Stop. I don’t need an escort all the time, Cap-Man, okay?”

Looking bummed, he nodded.

She left, itching to get out of there.

When the door finally shut behind her, she leaned back against it with a deep, relieved sigh. “Only you, Darcy Lewis, could totally dishearten Captain America,” she muttered.

She pulled her Starkphone out of the pocket of her robe and found she’d missed nothing over the course of the morning. Glad for that, at least, she got in the shower and took her time washing off every second of the last two days.

She realized she’d seen neither hide nor hair of Maria and couldn’t decide if she was glad for that too, or felt guilty. Then she decided she didn’t have the energy to care either way.

She slid on her David Bowie t-shirt again over her underwear, pulled on a pair of knee-high socks with purple polka-dots and curled up on the couch.

An hour or eight later, she was woken by the jangling of her phone, buzzing and tap-dancing across the cocktail table, and she realized she’d fallen asleep a few pages into Harry Potter and that it was getting dark outside their huge windows. Groggy, she swiped at the screen. “Hello?”

“I woke you. I’m sorry.”

Her heart stuttered at the sound of Bucky’s voice. “It’s my fault for falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon, not yours.” She cleared her throat and hauled herself up into a sitting position, folding her legs up behind her.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, his voice wary.

She sighed as she rubbed at her eyes. “God, you’re like a Sneakoscope from Harry Potter.”

“Is that the orb that turns red when you’ve forgotten something?”

She giggled. Leave _him_ to think of a Remembrall. “No, that’s a Remembrall. A Sneakoscope makes a blaring sound like a siren when there’s someone duplicitous around. It’s like you’re a lie-detecting sniffer dog.”

He wasn’t particularly amused. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

She sighed again. “Oh, I’m fine _now_. But, you remember that headache you asked about during the last debrief for the Romanian freighter op?”

“…Yeah…” he replied slowly, urging her on.

“Well…” She bit her lip. “It kept getting worse and worse until it sorta landed me in the infirmary,” she finally finished, wincing in anticipation of his reaction. She had yet to see him react to her not being up to snuff.

There was a long pause. Then a deep sigh. Like he was suppressing what he really wanted to say. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, tentatively, sweetly.

“I’m fine now,” she murmured in what she hoped sounded like an encouraging voice. “And before you feel guilty for causing me emotional distress, it really wasn’t that.”

He was blinking, it was obvious, and a brow was chinking up on one side. “Oh?”

She bit her lip again. “It’s a good thing you had the sense to remove your tracking chip. Apparently, they’re capable of being hacked.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Tony’s having a bird. The pain was so bad a couple days ago that I stumbled down to meet him in the shop, hoping he’d have something I could take and he said my pupils were so blown he couldn’t see my iris. And Maria was there. She went straight into Bitch Mode and I…might’ve tried to choke her.”

“ _What_?!” Decidedly more alarmed.

She pulled a hand through her hair and huffed out a breath. “Uh, yeah. I don’t…remember much. According to Tony, I sort of…snapped. And I was like…” She held her tongue at Tony’s comparison to Bucky. “I dunno. A robot. Apparently I took her down in about three moves and was crushing the air out of her windpipe before Tony managed to pull me off her.”

He was silent.

“Everything’s fine. _I’m_ fine. So is Maria.” She tried not to think too hard about the way her tone soured at the end.

“And here I am, on the outside.”

Her heart throbbed. “No, you’re not,” she murmured. “You’re right here, in my ear. You’re right here with me.” Just saying it smarted.

“Darcy—”

“ _I love you_. Don’t forget.”

He sighed.

“Tony removed my chip. He thinks that they’ve been hacking it the whole time, altering my thought patterns with different wavelengths, or something in Geek Speak, I dunno. Something that made me suggestible.”

“Darce—”

“Don’t.”

“ _Darcy_ —”

“ _Stop_. None of that ‘But Darcy’ shit.” She realized her voice had hardened without any prior thought. “I know _exactly_ where this is going.”

He let out a frustrated growl, but nothing else.

“You and Steve, you’ve _mastered_ the art of self-blame,” she sighed. “You have both got to _stop_ this. You’re driving yourselves crazy, Buck.” She shifted, gathering the blanket around her lower half. “Now, Natasha’s working on Steve, slowly but surely. You’re _my_ deal. So I need you to _listen_ to me _very_ carefully right now.”

He was silent.

“Jamie.”

“Listening,” he murmured.

“You better be.”

“I’m _listening_ ,” he said, a little louder.

And her throat started closing of its own accord. “You didn’t ask for any of this, Jamie. You fell off that train. It was an _accident_. You didn’t _ask_ Zola to experiment on you, you didn’t _ask_ him to make you a creepy brainwashed assassin. You _didn’t_ decide to kill those people. _None_ of that was your own doing. You…are a good man.” Her voice wobbled. “That’s _all_ there is to it.”

He sighed again. “Darcy…”

“You’ve made just a _handful_ of your own decisions in the past year, and even _that_ doesn’t feel like enough. You _chose_ to come back in out of the cold. You _chose_ to speak to that weird chick who sat down and started babbling nonsense at you—”

“It wasn’t nonsense.”

“And you _chose_ to ask her out.”

“She didn’t really give me much of a choice—”

“I’m not done,” she cut him off, a smirk in her voice no matter how she tried.

“Right.”

“You _chose_ to ask her to marry you, of all things. And you know what she did?”

He sighed. “What?”

“She _chose_ to say ‘yes’.”

“…Right,” he murmured.

“I said ‘yes’ for a reason.” She let that statement sit for a goof few seconds for emphasis. “I’m not gonna change my mind, Jamie. So you’ve got two options: feel guilty for no reason; or use that energy to find a way out of this. Your choice.”

He was silent.

“ _None_ of this is your fault. _Do_ you understand: yes or no?”

He audibly hesitated.

“ _Jamie_!”

“ _Yes_. Yes. God.”

She sighed. “ _None_ of this is your doing, it happened _to_ you. There is a huge-ass difference. You and Steve, you can’t protect the world from everything, let alone save the whole place yourselves. Why blame yourself when there’s a whole troop of bad guys out there to blame?!”

He took a deep breath. “Alright. Got it. Loud and clear.”

“Don’t be cheeky.” She sniffled. “I’m serious. I can’t listen to it anymore. I can’t listen to you _hate_ yourself. I don’t want you to suffer anymore. It’s over. It’s _over_ , Jamie. It’s in the past, it’s gone. And this will be too. And I’m still gonna be here when you get back. I’m not going anywhere, just like I promised on New Year’s Eve. You gave me a _really_ expensive ring. You’re stuck with me.”

“Guess so,” he murmured. “Sorry. I was just gonna say that—”

“Ah!” she interrupted.

“Darce, I’m serious.”

She sighed.

“I don’t like _not being there_ ,” he pushed on. “ _Are you alright_?”

“I’m _fine_.”

“Reminds me…I had a weird dream. Pain in my head and neck.”

She sat up straighter. “Really?”

“Mm. The other night. You were sleeping. It was so bad I could barely make it to the bathroom, and I actually passed out. When I came to, it was like I was… _him_ , again. I went and got one of my knives from my bag, and I…”

She swallowed, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. “What?”

“I attacked you. You woke up, and we struggled and I…”

The poor thing. Now she felt bad for being sharp with him. “Oh, God.”

“That was when I woke up. I went into the bathroom and my pupils were blown, though. I figured I was being paranoid, but I removed the chip anyway. I forgot about yours. I should’ve put two and two together. I would’ve mentioned it, but that morning—”

“They took you.”

“Mm.”

“So they were messing with you, too.”

“Who else has a tracker?” he asked his voice grim.

“I’m sure Tony’s working on it. He felt like he should’ve seen it coming, too, he’s pissed that someone got into his tech without him figuring it out.”

“Mm. Never cross Tony Stark.”

She snorted. “Right. I…I’m sorry, baby.”

“For what?”

She sighed. “You’ve been…shaken, and I was sharp.”

“Nah. Had worse.”

“No. I was kind of bitchy. I’m sorry.”

“I miss you,” he whispered. “It’s so _unbelievably_ good just to hear your voice.”

She took a deep breath. “I got your voicemail, from the other day.”

He chuckled. “You listened to my moronic ramblings?”

“Of course I listened. I _always_ listen, don’t I?”

A warm wave of déjà vu swept through her, and suddenly she was lying in bed, back in her tiny apartment, in the dark of two am and listening to him breathing on the other end of the line. He’d have just finished telling her about the latest memory or nightmare, just pushed off the remnants of panic and they’d be just lying in silence with each other, apart but together. It was May and she’d pried open her window to let in the early summer breeze and the sounds off the street would drift up into her bedroom and create a soundtrack against the backdrop of their hushed, intimate conversation. And she’d wondered how deeply she could fall for a guy like him, quiet and reserved, sweet, but damaged. Broken. A guy that called _her_ when it all got to be too much. _Her_. Not his best friend. Not the doc. But _her_. Like she could put him back together, piece by shattered piece.

“I’ve got a very patient girlfriend.”

“Mm, _fiancé_ ,” she corrected, curling into the blanket deeper with an affectionate smile, adrift in the muscle memory of it.

“Right.”

“And you’re just as patient with my stupid crap.”

“I just…speaking of, I have one request.”

“About what?”

“However we decide to do this…just…I _can’t_ have a crowd. Okay?”

She clucked her tongue, knowing immediately he was referring to her ring. “Damn, and here I was envisioning a wonderful courtyard full of tables with white linens and three hundred heads.” Understandably, he felt even more uncomfortable than she did at being the center of attention.

He sighed.

She giggled. “I’m joking, Buck. Who would I even invite?! You know me; I hide in sweaters that are three sizes too big. I don’t like drawing attention to myself.”

He snorted. “When you look like _that_ , I’m not sure why.”

“Ugh.”

“Should show yourself off a little more. You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He laughed that husky laugh. “And the fact that you won’t and that any compliment has the power to completely trip you up only makes you sexier.”

She rolled her eyes at the room. “The _song_ , by the way, the one that struck a chord with you, it’s called _Golden Slumbers_ , and it _is_ The Beatles, or, more specifically, Paul McCartney. I’m gonna tell you all about him when you get back. Man’s a _genius_. I saw him live a couple years ago. Maybe he’ll come back around one more time and we can go. And you’re not the only one that’s affected by that song. I think everyone hears something different there. That’s how you know it’s a good song.”

“It _hurt_.”

“Mm, isn’t there a saying about that being the only way to know you’re alive?”

He snorted. “Then I’ve had my fill of proof for a good, long while.”

She rose and went over to the window, looking out at the sunset. “You know, Bruce said something the other day that I haven’t been able to get outta my head.”

“…Yeah?”

“I asked him about your file and I…I started getting emotional, and I…I made a throwaway comment about you making me into a blubbering girl, or something, and…and he said that love changes you and makes you into someone new. And that that’s why it hurts so much.”

He spoke so softly that he surprised her. “Well…Bruce is a pretty smart guy.”

She laughed as she pressed a hand to the cold glass. “Yeah.” She swallowed. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Where are you?”

He hesitated.

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s not safe.”

“Somewhere in Queens, I think. I’m not…real good with modern New York and the Boroughs. I _think_ its Queens.”

“How far away do you think they are from being in place?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Not sure. Not long. Few days, maybe. They’re still getting everything in place in the warehouse.”

“Tony wanted to get your position in place right away.”

“No, I need him to _wait_. I don’t want them potentially being aware that I’m pinging until _absolutely_ necessary.”

Her stomach turned over. “Do you think they can…detect that?”

He sighed again. “I dunno. But I don’t wanna run that risk unnecessarily.”

She leaned against the glass. “ _God_ …”

“I’ll be fine, doll. Don’t worry about me.”

She bit her lip. “Don’t lie to me. Just how much danger are you in?”

“Oh, you know, not much,” he said breezily, trying for humor. “Just, you know, life or death.”

She let out a small groan.

“ _I’ll be alright_. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“The fact that you can say that at all actually makes it _worse_ , babe.”

“I know--and I've _never_ lied to you. Listen, I… _might_ …be able to get away tomorrow night.”

Her heart did a little pitter pat. “Really?”

“I can’t make any promises, doll.”

She wandered back over to the couch and flopped down. “That’s okay. I know.”

“Was that the couch you just threw yourself into?” he asked, then, his voice hilariously full of lust.

She let out a giggle. “Yeah.”

He growled in frustration.

She returned a sympathetic little mewl. “Mm, I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“I should probably go. I’m supposed to be scouting. _Endless_ scouting.”

She curled into the cushions. “Okay.” Then a thought occurred to her, smacking her in the face. “ _Oh_! God, how did I forget this?! _Holy shit_.”

“What?”

“Um.” She closed her eyes and tried to settle her rapidly fraying thoughts. “God, I’m an _idiot_. Um. The other voice. You said he sounded familiar? And that he had a European accent?”

“Mm-hm.”

“German?”

“That’s probably the best estimation I can make. I’m good with English and Russian. Beyond that, I haven’t been _programmed_.” He snorted.

“ _Not funny_.”

“Why? What’s running through that pretty little head?”

“ _Operation: Paperclip_.”

“What about it, babe?”

She took a deep breath. “You’ve read up on it, right? That Zola was down in the databanks?”

He made a grumpy sound. “Yeah.”

“What if he wasn’t the only one?”

He paused. “…Who did you have in mind?”

“Schmidt.”

Another long pause. “You think the _Red Skull_ was transferred?”

God, it was _so_ much easier to have a conversation with him than with Steve when she wasn’t being dismissed for a controversial idea. This was _HYDRA_ they were talking about—all kinds of creepy, lunatic ideas, _nothing_ was too far-fetched. Her fiancé understood that better than _anyone_. “I think he was transferred _first_. It would explain the pointed attacks they’ve launched on us since their discovery in our ranks. What if Peggy didn’t start the project? What if she didn’t know it had already been established?”

He sighed. “It would explain a lot, yeah. Any proof?”

She snorted. “You kidding? Tony’s working on it. And Steve’s not taking the idea real well.”

“I can imagine.”

“See if you can glean any details?” she suggested.

“I’ll see if I can work any magic. I should go.”

Her heart tugged. “Okay. Be safe.”

“I’m trying, doll. Don’t do any planning without me.”

“Well…I might have to get off my ass and look for a dress. Can’t have you around for that.”

He chuckled. “Whatever you gotta do.”

“I love you.”

“If I hadn’t hated sitting through _Star Wars_ so much, I could say something stupid, like, ‘ _I know’_.”

She giggled. “It would still be a correct pop culture reference. My grasshopper is learning well.”

He laughed softly.

“Anyway, _Star Wars_ is overrated.”

“I love you, too.”

“ _I know_.”

“I’m hanging up, now,” he said, laughing gently.

“Okay, okay. _Really_. Be safe. I need you to come back to me, okay?”

He paused, his voice soft. “I know. Bye.”

The phone beeped.

Releasing a shaky breath, she swallowed thickly and exited the call. “Well, that gets harder and harder every time I do it,” she said out loud.

She dragged herself up to make something to eat.


	7. Water Jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's back to business as usual. Or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Okay, guys! I'm back! Here we are! Finally. I am so, so sorry for the delay, but when I went back to check things out, something with the end just. Wasn't. Working. I wasn't sure why, but something felt off. Sure enough, I let my brain chillax on it for a few days and--ta da! The answer came to me! Of course, it's never that easy, and I had to go back and change a bunch of stuff to account for the slight left turn that I pulled. So, bad news is there was a huge delay and I'm still working on it. But, the good news is that I'm still working on it and so this will be longer than previously anticipated!
> 
> So, let's jump in! Thank you guys so much for the awesome kudos and comments, you guys are seriously the best! If I didn't get back to you, I'm sorry--I've been feverishly working on this and haven't really looked up to check the weather, lol. Also, this uploaded a little weird, so sorry if it looks strange...?? Whatever. lol
> 
> So. Let me know what you think--please, please, please? Oh, and I apologize in advance for the end. Sorry/not sorry. ;)

The next morning, after coercing Tony into believing her when she said she was fine, she met him down in the shop as usual, clutching her cup of coffee like a life raft.

“You _sure_ you’re okay, Short Stack?” Tony pressed from his desk as she took a seat behind hers. “Your eyes are red.”

She tried not to look at him and failed.

He looked all soft and sad again, so un-Tony that she scowled and looked away again.

She’d made the mistake of Googling to her heart’s content the night before, curious to see what sorts of dresses were out there for mere mortals, as opposed to Red Carpet, A-List celebrities. She’d been fine until she’d happened across a cream number that had looked like something straight out of 1940.

Lesson. Learned.

She ducked to wake her portal up from its slumber and sipped from her coffee as it whirred, booting contentedly for the first time in three days. “Yeah, well. I like to learn lessons the hard way, I guess.”

He didn’t move to rise or hug her, for which she was grateful. “He call last night?”

She sighed. “Mm-hm.”

A brow chinked up. “Everything okay with you two?”

“Oh…yeah. It just…part of me wishes he wouldn’t.”

“Call?”

“Yeah.” She signed in to the computer network and watched as the system went round again, logging her settings. “Too hard, hearing his voice.”

“He sound okay?”

“Other than totally frustrated, yeah. He’s all in one piece. Or, you know, most of him, plus his… _Star Trek_ arm.” She quirked a brow. “I haven’t shown him _Next Generation_ yet.”

Tony snorted. “He’s gonna _love_ The Borg.”

She sighed. “Yeah, he’ll think ‘Resistance is futile’ is _hilarious_. Second thought, maybe we’ll skip Picard and Data and just pretend it’s not there.”

He smirked. “You’re okay, though? He’s not…?”

She laughed. “What—catting around on the streets of Queens? No. He’s anxious, though. Doesn’t like not being here. Especially after I told him about the other day.”

His brows shot up. “You _told_ him?”

She shrugged, slumping in defeat. “He’s like a sniffer dog. He can hear a lie from twenty miles away. It’s like they programmed him with two dozen customizable apps.”

Tony snorted indelicately before bursting into laughter, his cackling filling the room.

She chuckled, wincing. “Tony…it’s really not funny.”

He waved a hand. “No, no, it’s not. But I’m laughing anyway.”

“He said something like that last night. He laughed a little and mentioned that he hadn’t been programmed for anything beyond English or Russian.”

“It’s good that he’s laughing about it,” Bruce said as he breezed in, his lab coat billowing behind him. “If he’s laughing, he’s coming to terms with it and learning to accept it.”

“Well, that’s not helping him out there,” Darcy snarked.

Bruce gave her a sad smile and came around her chair. “Let’s have a look at those sutures, hm?” He began prodding at her neck.

“That doesn’t explain the red eyes, there, Short Stack,” Tony pressed, getting serious again.

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, God, you and Jamie, the two of you are _relentless_. I can’t cry like a girl once in a while?”

Bruce gave a short laugh from behind her. “These are looking good. Let me go and get my surgical scissors.”

“Yay,” she dead-panned as he blew back out again.

“C’mon, kid,” Tony kept at it, leaning forward over his desk. “Spill your guts.”

She looked down at her desk. “It’s just…” She turned her ring around on her finger, fiddling nervously. “ _This_ thing.”

“Gettin’ cold feet, Short Stack? Little too quick?”

“No, no. It’s not that.” She scowled at him. “Why does everyone have a problem with _this_ but no one had _anything_ to say with Steve and Nat?”

Tony shrugged. “I haven’t said much either way. I’ve been a tool most of my life, recently reformed for _Lady Pepper_.” He smirked. “It’s not my business who gets married when. I’m only asking ‘cause you seem _less_ than sure.”

“It’s not _that_ that I’m less than sure about.”

His gaze softened and he cocked his head. “Then what is it?”

She sighed. “I’ve…never really been that kind of girl, I guess.”

“The _blushing bride_ , you mean?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Yeah. Not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

He gave a soft little laugh. “Well, you two make a pair, then.”

She felt the blush heat her cheeks and gave him a sad little frown.

He stood and came around his desk. “There aren’t rules for this, kiddo. You do what you _want_. If there _were_ rules, I would’ve run from Pep the minute I saw her in that dress.”

The year before had been his and Pepper’s wedding. Surprising everyone involved, it had been a shockingly small and subdued affair, quiet and intimate, at an old inn and B&B type of deal deep in the woods of upstate New York. A weekend trip for everyone with an open bar, a small ceremony with an extremely short aisle, and that was that. She’d had a rather boring and awkward time. She’d just broken up with Ian and had clung to Jane and Thor like the fifth wheel she shamelessly was and they had been so _overly_ supportive she’d been forced to flee after only a day.

She’d passed Steve and Nat, openly flirting in the back hall, Laura trying to wrangle the kids to behave near the bathrooms, and tumbled out onto the back deck, the door slamming shut behind her. She’d had just enough time to notice how gorgeous it was, the giant willow in the back hanging its low tendrils over the deck, before she’d realized she wasn’t alone.

It had been necessary for Bucky to come, regardless of the fact that half the team still wasn’t sure he was trustworthy, let alone sane. But Steve had been confident and Bucky had obviously given his assigned chaperone the slip, and was settled, one leg up on the bench, just there, in the corner, watching her with those eyes.

She’d squeaked in surprise, jumping before smoothing down her yellow cocktail dress and moving back for the door. “Sor—”

“You don’t have to go,” he’d said, voice quiet and subdued. He hadn’t said much to her since that afternoon in the lab two weeks prior, when she’d likely talked his ear off, and here he was, at ease with company.

She’d blinked and paused, turning to survey him. He was in the remains of his tux, black slacks and his white shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone. His vest was still buttoned neatly, though. His hair was loose, looked clean and soft, neatly brushed. He still had that five o’clock shadow though. He was dark-haired. She was beginning to think she’d never see him without it, or at least not for long. He’d smiled crookedly. “I won’t huff and puff and eat you alive.”

Strangely at ease with him, she’d given him an arch look. “Hardy-har. Very funny.”

“No?”

She’d rolled her eyes. “ _Please_. That joke won’t work on me.”

He’d laughed, letting his head tip back against the old-fashioned siding of the inn. “Usually that at least convinces people not to run screaming, like I’m gonna go all Freddie Krueger on them.”

She’d smirked. “Nice pop culture reference. Good job. I approve.”

“It was on TV the other night.”

So he liked retro horror movies or he was just curious? “But you don’t need to convince me of something I already know.” She’d wrapped her arms around herself, slightly chilly in the late afternoon of spring and turned to gaze out into the surrounding forest. Crickets were just starting to sing and she could hear what she thought were chorusing frogs coming from somewhere. A robin darted by. “God, it’s _gorgeous_ out here. And quiet.”

“Why you think I’m out here, doll?”

She’d snorted. “Gee, I dunno. I should think you’d enjoy watching your best friend fawn all over Natasha. No?”

“Why’d _you_ take off, then? Weren’t you chumming around with the God of Biceps?”

She’d laughed. “Again, with the humor. You’re really comin’ along, ain’t-cha?” She’d shrugged. “Eh. Gets a little…awkward when you’re sitting at a table, half drunk on bellinis, watching your best friend and her Space-God make out with their eyes. They probably ditched it back up to their room as soon as I left.” She’d wriggled. “I was getting _claustrophobic_. And I _hate_ weddings.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Thought women loved all that…hubbub.”

She’d given him a wry look. “Not _all_ of us.” But some strange sensation had wandered up her spine as she’d stood there, talking to him, thinking about this, talking about it, and she’d bitten her lip. “Guess I’m just…not that kinda girl.” And she’d turned to find him watching her, his eyes hitched on her bitten lower lip.

But he’d darted his eyes up, then, those pretty blue eyes, and latched onto hers. “No? You sure?” There was something…something in his voice. She wasn’t sure even _he_ noticed.

A shiver up her spine, she’d shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe if the right fella came around.”

He’d stood, then, all in one fluid move, and she’d looked away, feeling awkward at the things his body did to her breathing. He retrieved his jacket from the hook by the door and came over, shaking it out. “Think you’ll be more comfortable in this than I’ve been.” And he’d draped it over her shoulders with a little smile.

She’d hugged into it, his clean, soapy, aftershave combination assaulting her nostrils and filling her senses. An ache had filled her. What they’d done to him. What they’d forced him to do. And he was still standing. And he looked like that. And he was clearly so lonely, and he was clearly trying to hide it, and it was so self-inflicted, and she could hardly blame him.

She wanted to jump him.

She wanted tell him he wasn’t alone anymore.

“And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that sometimes people surprise you, doll. But more than that, sometimes you surprise _yourself_ even more.”

So true, she wondered if he was even aware of how appropriate his words were in that moment.

She’d smiled back, clawing to conceal her urge to slide their fingers together and hold his hand. “Is this the charming Mr. Barnes I’ve heard so much about from Captain Tightpants?”

His ears had turned just slightly pink. “Nah. Ain’t been him for a long time. Don’t think I ever really was.”

But she’d been caught again, by those eyes. “Then who are you now? If you’re not The Asset and you’re not Sergeant Bucky Barnes…then who are you now?”

And God, he’d felt so much closer than he really was. She had the errant urge to reach out and run her fingers through his hair, was suddenly desperate to find out if it was as soft as it looked. But then he’d sighed and taken a stance beside her, looking out toward the little marshy pond beneath the willow. “I’m still working that out.”

And she’d smiled and nodded. “Well, let me know when you do, Soldier. I’d like to meet him.” She’d given his jacket back with thanks, and gone back in to find Jane and Thor.

Now, she looked up at Tony and she felt that same rush of…something… Warmth? Fond affection? A yearning worry, so deep down, she wondered if his safe recovery would even quell it. “I guess I just…don’t feel like I’m…the marriage sorta girl.” She shrugged. “I dunno. I probably sound stupid. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing anything without him. And trying to figure it out myself just feels like…trying to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.”

But Tony wasn’t fazed. “Wait. Skip the gouging. Go back to the first part.”

Bruce came fluttering back in. “Okay. This shouldn’t hurt _too_ much, but let me know if it does.” And he began carefully snipping.

“Which part?” she asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Why aren’t you the marrying sort of girl?”

She shrugged again, feeling the heat in her cheeks. “ _Am_ I?”

Tony blinked at her, clearly confused. “Well, _no_ _one_ is that sort of person until _another_ _sort_ of person wanders by, Darce. That’s usually how it works.” Then he snorted, a wry smile drifting over his mouth. “Hell, I wasn’t even that sort of person after she _did_. I was a Grade A asshole. For some reason, she stuck with me. After I straightened myself out I realized what I really wanted. Pretty simple, actually.”

She sighed. “Tony…”

“Hey, take it from me, Short Stack. I usually look at things _too_ hard. But after the idea occurred to me…there wasn’t anything to think about. You get what I’m saying?”

She swallowed, then flinched as her neck stung. “Ah!”

“Sorry,” Bruce murmured. “Just one more.”

“Did you hesitate?” Tony asked, hitching a hip against her desk and crossing his arms over his chest.

“When?”

He gave her a stupid look, and shook his head. “ _When he asked you_. Did you hesitate? Did you hear any warning bells?”

“Got it!” Bruce stated. “How’s that feel?”

Distracted, she reached up to feel tentatively at the back of her neck. It was fairly smooth. “Pretty good.”

He squeezed one shoulder. “Good. Let me just check this out…”

“Short Stack?” Tony prompted.

Warning bells, right. She shrugged. “No.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He looked at her, hard. “You answered for _you_? Not for _him_?”

Sure she was being obtuse, she frowned, still distracted by Bruce. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t say ‘ _yes’_ because you felt like you _had_ to, or because you felt _guilty_ , or because you thought that was what he _wanted to hear_? You said ‘ _yes’_ because _that was your answer_?”

She blinked. “Well, yeah.”

He waved a hand in a tossing motion. “So, here. _Forget_ about the planning, and the _dress_ , and _forget_ about the _location_ and all that crap. I’ll make it easy. Do you want anyone else? Do you _think_ you might want someone else in the future?”

She jerked her head back. Bruce clucked. “ _God_ , no.”

A little smirk curling his mouth, Tony continued. “And you’re going to _keep_ wanting that for the _rest of your life_? You’re _confident_ in that?”

“Yes. _Obviously_. I mean, I’m pretty sure my reaction to him disappearing should speak for itself.”

Tony shrugged. “So what are you worrying about? We’re all misfits here, Short Stack. There aren’t. Any. Rules. You think Natasha vacuums in heels and pearls? _God_ , no. It works for them because it _works_. Don’t second guess that.”

“He’s right,” Bruce said, his voice quiet behind her ear. “And if it’s any consolation, you’ve both been better since you’ve gotten together, though I’m sure Tony would agree that, regardless of what everyone else keeps saying, it sure took you two long enough.”

Tony snorted. “Preach it, there, Big Guy.” He wandered back to his desk and sat down.

She frowned. “Better? What was wrong with _me_?”

Bruce shrugged out of the corner of her eye. “Nothing. But you clearly agreed with everyone else that you were just Jane’s quirky little assistant. You always had more in you than that, Darce. Besides—look at this place. For the first time since I met Tony, it doesn’t look like a bomb went off in here.”

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I work best in a—”

“ _Chaotic environment_ ,” they both intoned at the same time.

“Just—” Tony cut in with an eye roll—“When you start to panic…think about why you said ‘yes’ in the first place. How’s that sound?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

Bruce squeezed her shoulders. “I’m going to go and get some alcohol and I’ll be right back.” He breezed out again.

“Anything on the Red Skull or _Operation: Paperclip_?”

Tony shrugged. “Nothing yet. I’ve got JARVIS combing the archives for anything wonky. Should know more tomorrow. Steve and Nat went back to the Fridge, see if they could get anything else out of von Strucker.”

“What about the prisoners we took when they launched their attack on the balcony?”

He sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. “Eh, they’re all drones. Patsies. ‘Fraid it’s all going to have to rely on what your guy can dig up on his own.”

She frowned. “That’s what I was afraid of…”

Bruce came back, cleansed the wound on her neck and then left again with an encouraging smile.

She spent the day working on more reports, she sorted through the very last file drawer left to organize and left Tony tapping away at his station at five with a kiss to his head.

Then she went around the apartment, cleaning up and organizing. She put the dishes away and got out two wine glasses. Then she took a quick walk to the deli down the street and got some favorites before coming back and searching her closet for something particular to wear.

Two hours later, she was perched nervously on the couch in her black mini skirt and her purple silk top with a cowl neck, her hair pulled up high at the back of her head, and a glass a quarter full of wine was clutched in one hand.

“Get a grip, Darce. You weren’t this nervous on your first date,” she muttered to herself. “JARVIS?”

“ _How might I be of service, Miss Lewis_?” the butler intoned calmly.

She’d discovered he could, in fact, control tech that wasn’t his. Apparently, he could be ordered to scan any new technology in a room to manipulate at will—provided he could use his own jiggery-pokery on it. Darcy wasn’t sure how it worked, but she went with it. “Could you put the record on the turn table on?”

“ _Of course, Miss Lewis_.”

The machine whirred to life, the needle seemed to rise by a ghost’s touch, came down on the LPs edge and began.

Much to her own chagrin, Jane had introduced her to the ways of _Pride and Prejudice_ a few years back, under house arrest in Tromsø, while the Scooby Gang fought off an alien attack in Manhattan. Darcy had whined the whole time, declaring insistently that she wasn’t some girly-girl.

She’d shut up as soon as Matthew McFadyen had crossed that field at sunrise. Alright, so yeah, maybe she pretended not to be a girly-girl because it set her apart from the squealing fangirls at movie premieres. But, still. And _damn_ it, but the soundtrack had the power to relax her in _seconds_. She’d tracked down an LP release as soon as they’d returned. Everything sounded better on vinyl.

As the piano intro began, she could feel her grip around the glass relax, her heart rate slow, and she spun her ring—now back on her finger—only to straighten it.

She settled back on the couch and eyed her book. He’d said he couldn’t promise, so she might as well get comfortabl—

The door opened.

She jumped, nearly sloshing her wine out of the glass.

Bucky smirked as he shut the door. “Sorry.”

But she barely heard him; instead setting down her glass in favor of darting across the room to throw herself into his arms.

It set him back a bit on his heels. “ _Whoa_ …” He wrapped one arm around her, pressing his face into the bare skin of her shoulder and breathing deep. “Mm. Hi.”

“Hi,” she murmured breathlessly, and got up on tip toe to kiss him fervently, pressing against him. God, why had she felt any anxiety at all?

“Mm…” He broke away after a moment. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down, doll.” He chuckled ruefully. “You’ve got me for the night. I’m not gonna disappear in a cloud of smoke.” He retracted his other arm and she finally saw what she’d missed: a single red rose, it’s color so deep, it looked like blood.

She shut her mouth with a snap and felt a blush heat her cheeks. “I’ve never gotten flowers before.” Once in a while, she’d pluck some from the market to brighten her tiny apartment; but never from a lover.

“Well, then, I made the right call.”

She plucked it from his metal hand and went to find one of the thin bud vases she’d brought from her apartment and filled it with water. “Flowers are supposed to mean something, yeah? That was a thing back then?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, in 1896.”

She smirked. “Close enough.” And she winked. “C’mon, it was still a thing in your time, wasn’t it?” she needled. “What’s a red rose symbolize?”

He came over and poured himself just a tiny bit of wine. “Romance. Passion.”

She was surprised when she neither flushed nor felt so full of girlish enthusiasm she wanted to flinch at how different she’d become. Instead, her stomach did a funny little twist and a bolt of heat shot low, making everything in her tighten, and she leaned on the counter for a moment. “Ah.” She swallowed. God, now she wanted to jump him. There was room, he could perch her on the counter and she could wrap her legs around him and—“Perfect choice.” Why on earth had she felt any hesitation?!

“Did you go to that deli on fifth?” he asked, peering the fridge.

She giggled. “Yeah. Hungry?”

“ _Starving_. Could eat a horse,” he said as he came nearer.

She snorted. “You and Steve could eat a horse apiece _every_ _day_.” She turned her head, but suddenly he was right there, close. He leaned in and kissed her, slow, deep, and the fact that he didn’t touch her anywhere else made it, strangely, more intimate.

She broke away, biting her lip. “Between that and the rose, you better stop or I’m gonna combust.” She could hear the huskiness even in her own voice.

He smiled. “Missed you.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “I can tell.” Funny turnaround they’d done. “They won’t…notice you’re gone?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Scouting’s done on the new warehouse. They’re moving things in. I’m supposed to be on patrol at a secondary location. No one’s there tonight. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, smoothing a hand down his gear.

He nodded. “I’ll have to leave early again, though.”

She nodded. “Then let’s make sure we make it count.”

They ate at the table, making conversation about anything but HYDRA, their legs all tangled together underneath, and agreed to ask Tony about the little inn that he’d used for his wedding.

“Tony,” she put out there. “So, Pepper.”

He answered with, “Steve and Nat. Wanda.”

“Jane. So, Thor.”

“Sam?”

“ _No Maria_.”

“Clint will be busy with Laura and the kids.”

“That’s pretty much the whole Tower,” Bucky pointed out.

She shrugged. “Of course it’s not. There are a lot of suits that work the lower floors, Jamie. We’ll just…invite the team. Small. It won’t be a crowd. Did you want to go somewhere?”

He smirked. “They still go on honeymoons?”

She snorted. “Uh, _yeah_. Probably bigger than you ever knew them, but yeah.”

“So…where’d you plan on dragging me?” he asked with a playful wink.

She thought for a minute. “What if we just rented out a house in the Hamptons? On the beach? That way, we’re close. There wouldn’t be any crazy travelling. Just the two of us.”

“I like the way your mind works, Lewis.”

She laughed. “Should I look into it? I mean, this year or…next year…or…?”

He paused and looked up at her. “What do you want?”

There he went again, deferring to her. Instead of making her leery, he only made it easier, removing any shred of doubt. “Would this year be too much for you?”

He snorted. “A _lot_ of things are too much for me, but no way in hell would _that_ be one of them. But aren’t you supposed to have…your girlfriends…like stand up and all that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, in a _traditional_ wedding. But not in mine.”

“They won’t be hurt? The girls?”

She shook her head. “Do you really think Jane would take the time? Nat? In a frilly dress with a bouquet?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, never mind. Good point. You find a dress?”

She hesitated.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, her mood wilting a little as she toyed with her ring.

But he took up her hand, effectively halting her. “What?”

She shrugged again. “I looked the other night. Was too hard.”

He surprised her when he shrugged in return and didn’t immediately apologize. “Well. It’s only February. It’s not an emergency, right?”

And she sighed, the pressure easing again, and smiled. “You know, contrary to what you seem to think of yourself, you somehow seem to always know just what to say. You want a shower?”

He grinned. “ _God_ , yes.”

It was a long shower. A _really_ long one. And it was just big enough for the two of them, even better if his weight pressed her back against the tiled wall and she kept her legs wrapped around his hips.

They crashed desperately together, biting and nipping, and his teeth grazed her throat and her collar bone as his hips hitched her against the wall, again and again. His fingers dug into her thighs and she was pulling hard on his hair.

It was just good that privacy protocols were always on in the suite, because the sounds he drew out of her throat would’ve been humiliating to live down. She came in record time, even for his skill, and considering he was exhausted, the water was getting cold by the time they called it.

When they’d washed and climbed out, she was unsteady. “God, next time you give me three orgasms, you gotta at least let me sit down,” she drawled, her legs like jelly.

They curled up on the couch in front of Sherlock, all knotted together beneath a blanket, and it didn’t take him long to doze off, his head tilted away.

She watched him, the graceful lines of his face, his down-turned mouth, the dusky shadow of his jaw. His hair was drying in soft waves against his shoulders. Definitely time to trim it. She reached up to shift a lock off his face, and he stirred.

“Mm…” he moaned softly, curling his arm around her and drawing her even nearer, nestling into the couch. “Fell asleep. Sorry.”

She smiled. “You’re exhausted. Just rest.”

“Not very good company.” His voice was gentle and husky. “Ma would say I’m bein’ rude.”

“No. You’re here. That’s enough. You need to rest; that’s important. You can’t keep going the way you’ve been. Something’s bound to snap.”

He swallowed and let his head tip toward her, his eyes drifting shut again. “Stumbled across the only perfect dame in 2015,” he murmured.

She leaned over and set a soft kiss to his cheek. “And don’t you forget it.” She carefully leaned over to pick up her tablet from the side table so she wouldn’t disturb him and began tapping away silently, Sherlock turned low in the background. Feeling eased and lighter than she had in days, she let Google show her some more dresses, biting her lip as she scrolled. Nothing was jumping out. They were all full of layers and layers, and—God, how much chiffon did one dress need?!

She grumbled under her breath and Bucky shifted beside her, sighing in his sleep. She smiled—

There. That one.

She halted on one in particular.

It was medium length, and she figured, for her short stature, it would fall at her shins. And it was fairly form-fitting, with a bodice that laced up the back. It was also strapless, but there was a lace collar and full, tight, lace sleeves. And a tiny bow at the back. A sweetheart neckline.

She stared at it.

“That’s a nice one,” he murmured from beside her.

She jumped.

“Really. I like that.”

She nibbled on her lip. “Not exactly screaming 1940.”

His brow quirked in tired confusion. “You’ve been looking for one like that?”

She nodded.

He laughed softly. “ _God_. No. Don’t.”

She frowned. “Why not? I thought…”

“That I was still half lost in 1943 like Stevie?”

She swallowed. “Well…I thought you might like something more—”

“I’ve never been traditional, Darce, either then or now. Get what you like.” And he nodded at the tablet again. “I like _that_. It’s sweet and old-fashioned, but not ancient. Formal dresses for weddings didn’t have any form back then. _That’s_ a dress.”

She blushed. “Yeah?”

He burrowed deeper and sighed again, eyes drifting, the matter seemingly closed. “’Time is it?”

She glanced at the clock. “Just after ten.”

“We should really have a brief with Stark.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then sighed. “Yeah. You’re right. JARVIS?”

“ _Mr. Stark is currently in the act of finishing up in the shop, Miss Lewis. Shall I summon him_?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, guess so.”

He ambled through the door ten minutes later, eyes bright. “ _Finally_ made a breakthrough with Drone 13. Little bastard finally surrender—” He looked up and saw Bucky on the couch, and paused. “Oh.” He turned, looking confused. “Wait. You did ask me to stop by, right? I’m not…doing one of those things where I just—”

“No, Tony,” Darcy assured him with a smirk. “I called you.”

His eyes assessed her fiancé carefully, and once again, Tony was the only level head in the entire Tower. “How you holdin’ up, kid?” He threw himself into one of the arm chairs.

Bucky shrugged. “Eh. Been better.”

Tony nodded. “I’ll bet.”

“Also, been worse. So, all in all, can’t complain.”

Tony watched them for a moment, his eyes twinkling in a funny, very un-Tony way.

Finally, Darcy squirmed. “What?”

He sat back in the chair and eyed her. “Still worrying?” he asked, darting a glance down at her left hand.

She blushed. “No.”

He smirked. “Yeah, thought so. Whatcha doing here, kid? Stop by for a booty call?”

Darcy sighed.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder sleepily. “If I’m placing the cultural context correctly, then the answer is, ‘ _Shut up, Tony_.’”

He grinned. “So, what did you need from _me_? You two look pretty cozy on your own.”

            Darcy looked to Bucky. “His idea.”

            Bucky sighed. “This Schmidt theory. Anything to back it up yet?”

            Tony grimaced and shook his head. “No.”

            “You think I’m crazy, right?” Darcy asked.

            Tony shook his head. “No, no. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Bugs me that I can’t find any proof. But I don’t know how to go about finding any that doesn’t rely on this one, over here, throwing himself in the line of danger.” He gestured at Bucky.

            Bucky waved a hand. “Eh, I do that all the time. What’s once more?”

            Darcy rolled her eyes. “Oh, because _that_ makes me feel _so_ much better.”

            Bucky ignored her, but his arm cybernetic arm squeezed her middle. “Anything in mind? Something small I can smuggle in?”

            Again, Tony grimaced. “Well, I can always throw a virus on a jump drive, but that would require you getting in pretty close. Have you been able to see anything? Anything strange? A computer interface? Portals? Anything at all?”

            He shook his head. “Nope. They keep me in a room in the back, locked door. I dunno if I can escape it. Haven’t tried yet. I’ve been biding my time. I don’t want to clue them in until I absolutely have to, and ideally not until I’ve got the upper hand. They’ve got probably three to four dozen drones working at computers. Not sure what they’re doing though.” He scoffed in frustration. “That gives me a disadvantage, arm or no. I can still get shot.”

            “Anything new on how they were manipulating the trackers?”

            Tony shrugged. “I was able to isolate a small piece of malware, but I can’t tell how they got past JARVIS. The firewall around him is _ironclad_. It was a pretty aggressive virus though, and it was programmed with EMP-like events, and I think the idea was to increase these events until it caused an aggressive response, a state of suggestibility, rapidly followed by a seizure like event, maybe to ensure loss of evidence during a self-destruct sequence. I dunno. Could be that it was meant purely as a one-off, meant to induce a state of madness.”

            “So, you’re saying I was minutes away from—”

            “Flat-lining, probably, yeah.”

            Bucky flinched.

            Tony winced. “Yeah, I…I’m sorry, Short Stack, I—”

            She raised a hand. “ _Stop_. You sound like Bucky and Steve.”

            For a moment, he stared at her, but then he swallowed and nodded. “I might be able to isolate it and put it onto a flash drive, provided you can get out, find the interface and insert it. Use irony to our advantage and infect them with their own tech, rig it to work all at once. I can hopefully create a route to install it, too, so you won’t need to leave the drive in. I can rig it so it’ll flash at you when it’s done, so you can remove it and get back before you’re found out. But that relies on knowledge of the interface, itself, kid. You think you can worm your way out at some point, and see if you can get a look at what’s going on?”

            Bucky thought for a moment. “Maybe. That might give the game away. I’m not sure who’s around at all hours. I might run into guards, I might not. Taking care of one or two wouldn’t be a problem, but more than that and it’ll be obvious what I’m doing.”

            Tony sighed tiredly, dragging a hand down his face. “See what you can do? I’ll set to work isolating that program. If we can insert it, the EMPs would likely kill whatever’s in the databanks.”

            “Is there any danger of a tracker manipulating an individual when it’s—”

            “From what I can tell, it’s designed to work from _within_ the body, Short Stack, no worries,” Tony interrupted, reassuring her with a nod. “I’m going to rig his to it’ll ping and I’ll still be able to track it, but for something like what happened to you, it has to be interior.”

            “What about a body cam?” she suggested.

            Tony’s face fell in surprise. “Good thinking, Short Stack.” He snapped his fingers. “Coulson’s gang, they sent me those creepy designs of the artificial eyes they stumbled across, remember?”

            “The cameras that the Centipede group were installing in their agents to monitor their work?” Darcy clarified, shuddering. “Didn’t they self-destruct on command?”

            He nodded. “Yeah. I was futzing with the idea a while back, I think I might have a working design for a modified contact lens!” He stood, his face lit with that certain manic shade of determined genius. His brain was already turning.

            “ _No_ , Tony! You should go and sleep. It’s already late.”

            But he shook his head. “ _No_. What have I always said? _This_ is the mission. There is nothing _but_ this. Alright? This ain’t my first all-nighter. I’ll be back.” He was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

            Darcy grumbled under her breath. “Well. _That_ was interesting.”

            “I don’t even want to think about that tracker,” Bucky muttered.

            She leaned back into him. “My head didn’t explode. Tony’s quick. And, you know, a genius. I’m still here.” She thought for a moment. “I wonder if I could hack them.”

            “How you gonna hack HYDRA when you can’t _find_ them?”

            She shrugged. “Google.”

            He gave her a wry look. “Google? _Seriously_?”

            Another shrug. “I can poke around on the conspiracy websites. See if I can backdoor it somewhere.”

            He sighed. “I don’t want you getting that close.”

            She frowned.

            “Don’t get me wrong, babe. I’m not gonna smother you. And I don’t wanna control you. But look what they did to _me_. With this new technology, they might make what they did to me look like child’s play. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

            “I’ll just be sitting at a laptop, Jamie.”

            “Yeah, and all you had was a computer chip in the back of your neck, and look what happened.”

            “I’m _fine_.”

            His voice rose. “You almost _died_ , Darcy!”

            She flinched; he hardly ever used her full name. And considering what he’d been through, he almost never raised his voice. _Ever_. He was usually almost disturbingly quiet.

            For a moment, the room was silent.

            She cleared her throat. “Is this a fight?”

            He sighed, his head tipping back against the couch. “No, this isn’t a _fight_. I just…” His arm around her tightened still, and the mechanics whirred as he pulled her close. “I can’t lose you.” He swallowed and his throat worked, hard. “I _can’t_. You don’t understand.”

            She wriggled in his grip and set a hand to his heart. “I probably do.”

            He shook his head. “ _No_ , you _don’t_. You _can’t_. You can’t climb inside my head.” He snorted bitterly. “Sometimes _I_ can’t even climb inside my head.”

            “Jamie…”

            He swallowed again, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Some days I feel like you’re the only thing keeping me sane.”

            Her frustration softened and she sighed. “Jamie…You’re stronger than that.”

            He looked at her, and the blue of his eyes was bright. “Past couple weeks haven’t felt like that. You think I’m so indestructible, Darce, but the thought of coming back to you has been the only thing holding me together. It’s dark back there, pretending to be _him_.”

            She set her head on his shoulder.

            “I don’t think you understand how closely tied you are to…me regaining myself. I don’t think I’d have made it through all that without you.”

            Something throbbed in her chest. “You _would’ve_. Because you wouldn’t have had any other choice.”

            “People say it all the time, but Darce, I really don’t know what I would do without you, I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. I’m even less certain what I would do if I felt somehow responsible.”

            She thought for a long moment about what she had to say. She had no choice. But how to soften it, how to make it palatable? “Jamie…I work for SHIELD. I might not be an agent, but that still means I have a job to do. _For SHIELD_.”

            He sighed.

            “I can _barely_ hold my own in a fight—”

            “We have to get back to that. It’s been so _crazy_ around here—”

            “I know. That’s not what I meant. But—”

            “And you took down that HYDRA agent all on your own on New Year’s. He wasn’t small.”

            She paused and eyed him. “Who’s side are you on, here?”

            He rolled his eyes. “There aren’t _sides_ ,” he chuckled. “God…” He groaned, his head tipping back into the couch again.

            “I might not be an _agent_ , but Tony took me on for a reason. I have to do whatever I can. And besides…” She swallowed. “You’re fighting for me. Right?”

            He shrugged.

            “You’ve done it before, and now you’re doing it again. You worry so much about how everyone sees you, the _Winter Soldier_ , but you’re in the thick of it while we all sit back here, and _damn_ it if Maria is gonna imply that you’re—” She stopped herself before her temper could pick up speed and softened her voice. “You’re fighting for me, for _all_ of us. Shouldn’t _I_ do a little fighting for _you_?”

            He winced. “Most of the fight has been against _myself_.”

            She smirked, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face again. “ _Please_. You’re twice as sane as you think you are.” She winked. “But girls can fight too. Let me do something for you. We’re a team, right?”

            His metal hand drifted up her back. “You’ve already done so much for me.”

            She shook her head. “Not enough. Besides…” She gave him an impish grin. “I gotta pay you back for this beast of a ring.”

            He rolled his eyes.

            She laughed, bumping his shoulder with her own. “I mean, _Goddamn_ , Barnes, how much did you pay for this thing?!”

            He looked at her, holding her gaze. “Do you like it?”

            Her heart tripped over itself. “I love it.”

            “Then it doesn’t matter.” He curled his arm tighter and drew her nearer.

She slid a leg around his waist and straddled him, settling in his lap. “Hopefully Tony can get you set up before you have to go back.”

He groaned again. “ _Don’t_. I don’t want to think about that yet.”

She smoothed a hand down the t-shirt he’d slid on after their shower. “I’m sorry.”

He pressed his brow to hers. “Every time I think I want something simple, there’s a hurdle in my path. I can’t just… _have_ you. There’s a…huge roadblock in my way every single time.”

She tightened her grip on him. “Well, you could technically _have_ me right now…” she suggested with an arch look.

His pouty mouth curled in a half-grin. “Nah.”

She laughed. “No?” She wriggled around a little, teasing him. “Your body’s not saying ‘Nah’.”

He laughed lazily. “That’s because you’re cheating.”

She stopped, reaching up to run her finger down his jaw. “You look exhausted. You wanna go to bed?”

He sighed. “Mm.” In one fluid move they were up, and he was carrying her, bridal style, across the room, down the hall and very carefully setting her on her side of the bed.

She tugged the blankets down and crawled under, shedding her sweatpants and sweater, leaving her in her t-shirt and underwear. She reached for her Starkphone and set the alarm for five.

He stripped off his lounge pants and t-shirt and crawled in beside her, gathering her close. “Sex is great, but I just. Want. To sleep.”

“With me, I assume?” she teased, curling up against his front.

“Only good way,” he murmured, and he sounded like he was already half out.

He could do that sometimes, just switch on and switch off. Four hours later, he’d snap awake and not need any more for days. He was incredible that way.

But Darcy was wide awake. Tense with his presence and full to the brim with worry, she turned over, then turned over again, then again, before sighing and gently easing away so she wouldn’t disturb him.

She got up, slid her lounge pants back on, and, yawning ironically, went back out into the living room. She made tea and curled up on the couch with her book. She felt a little guilty leaving him alone in the bed, but he was blessedly asleep, and wouldn’t notice her restless moving around. He’d sleep better that way.

Twenty minutes later, a knowingly subdued JARVIS was speaking. “ _Miss Lewis, Mr. Stark would like to know if you are ‘decent’ so that he might enter_.”

She chuckled softly to herself and shook her head. “Yeah, J, send him in. It’s fine.”

Tony slipped through a few minutes later, looking around. “He sleeping?”

She nodded. “Passed out a half hour ago.”

He nodded. “Good. He looked like he was ready to. How ‘bout you? Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head.

He held out the small box he carried. “One contact for his use.”

She stared at it there, on the little plastic slot. “How’s it work?”

“I’ve set up a Skype sorta deal. We’ll be able to see what he’s seeing. I’m hoping maybe I can get him to wear the tiny earpiece that goes with it.”

“What about his tracker? Do you think they’ll be able to tell he’s ‘wired’ so to speak?”

He shrugged. “Got no idea, kid. HYDRA’s full of freaky technology.”

She sighed. “I’m worried about him—like, more than I was before.”

Tony got up and flopped down on the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around her. “I know, kid. Wish I had magic words for ya.” He gestured at the TV. “Keep ya company, you wanna put a movie on or something?” he offered.

She shrugged. “You should go sleep, yourself.”

He waved a hand. “Nah. Brain’s turning. I’m good for a while. Go on.”

So they sat close on the couch and watched a movie, talking and laughing lowly, like the world around them wasn’t slowly shifting to match the dulcet tones of a HYDRA-sized seismic fault. She couldn’t deny how good it felt to have someone else to confide in, someone who’d already been there and come out on the other side. She couldn’t deny how good it felt to have something like a father back in her life.

She didn’t realize she’d dozed off against his shoulder until the alarm on her phone suddenly chimed. She jolted, realizing with a start that he had her all wrapped up against his chest, his hand warm between her shoulder blades.

“You’re alright, Darce,” Tony greeted her.

She shifted off him, blushing. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, his eyes all warm and soft. “You’re fine.” He leaned forward to hit the disarm button on the alarm. “You gotta go wake him up?”

She staggered up onto her feet and nodded as she pulled a hand across her eyes. “Yeah…” She ambled into the bedroom.

He was still asleep on his side, one bent arm under the pillow, twisted half on his stomach, the other stretched out, as though reaching for her. She slid onto the bed and took up his hand. He curled his arm around her and tugged her closer, murmuring in his sleep.

She smiled, reaching up to trace the lines of his face. “Jamie…” she whispered softly.

He came slowly awake, his eyes fluttering open to regard her groggily. “Mm…is it five already?” he asked, his voice rasping deliciously.

She nodded, trying to ignore what that voice did to her body, everything in her tightening painfully. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Gotta get up.”

He groaned, tugging her closer still. “Mm, little longer…”

She laughed softly. “No, there’s no time. Gotta get up, love.”

Without further argument, he sat up, sliding back from her as he shook off the haze of sleep. “Ugh, _God_.”

“Okay?”

He rubbed at an eye and pulled a hand through his mussed hair. “In the middle of a weird dream. You were in white again.”

She smirked. “I’m sensing a pattern here.”

He shook his head, his brow puckered in confusion.

She slid off the bed and swatted at his butt. “Go on. Get going. Tony’s ready for you when you’re done.”

He went.

She wandered back into the living room to find Tony slumped over on the couch, reading one of her books with a frown. “You know what I never got?”

She flopped down next to him and snuggled into his side. “What?”

He shrugged, flippant. “Potter grew up in the Muggle world. So why didn’t he just pick up a .48 and shoot Snake Dude in the fucking face?”

She smirked. “’Snake Dude’…”

He shrugged again, yawning and pulling a hand through his hair. “Yeah, Voldemort. Guy’s a dick. You shoot dicks like that in the face. I learned that the hard way a few years back.” He flashed her an impish grin and a wink.

She set her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes it doesn’t work like that, Boss Man.”

He wound his arm around her and squeezed. “Yeah. I know.”

Something occurred to her. “Hey. You know…that place where you and Pepper got hitched. What was it?”

He eyed her. “You two thinking of keeping with the theme?”

She shrugged. “It was nice. And secluded, and quiet.”

“He’s better without all the noise, yeah?”

She nodded. “And it was…sorta…”

“Something started there, with you two, hm?”

She felt the blush creep up her jaw and along her cheekbones.

He waved a hand as he set her book aside. “Eh, I took a turn past the bathrooms. Saw you two talking out on the deck. Thought that might’ve been something, but I didn’t wanna jinx it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you some creepy omniscient dude, or something?”

He winked. “Never know. JARVIS is omniscient and I _own him_. Lemme know a date, I’ll call the guy. We’re old pals.”

Bucky came in then, looking much more awake, and changed into his black combat gear. “Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he said as he sat down on the couch beside her, making them a little threesome. “What’s up?”

Tony handed him the box and then dug around in his pocket. “Contact. You wanna put that in? We can check if it works.” He plucked Darcy’s tablet from the side table.

Bucky slid the contact in without trouble, at which Darcy was surprised. He simply shrugged, blinking the piece of plastic into place.

“Ooh, nice dress.” Tony tapped away on the tablet, swiping away at the screen she’d had up with her Google dress results and tapping in an IP address. It popped up, then the center screen loaded, installing. “Darcy, you’re going to be in charge of monitoring, but I’m going to have access at my station downstairs, just so there are two pairs of eyes on this at all times.” He looked up at Bucky. “You open to putting in a deep cover earpiece?”

He frowned. “That much frequency and it’ll set off their alarms. They frisk me every time I come or go.”

Tony shook his head. “Damn.”

Tony went to check his station downstairs. They sat, nervous, and she clutched at his metal hand, watching the bar fill up. Suddenly, up it popped and she stared at it in fascination, the view of the room from his right eye. “Wow. _Wicked_.” And there was a timestamp, too.

He came back. “Alright, stations up and running. And the contact IP is loaded, so we’re good to go,” Tony added, tapping away at something else. “Can I triangulate, are we good for that yet?”

Bucky nodded. “After I leave, give me an hour to get in place. Then go for it.”

Tony slapped a hand against Bucky’s back, gave him a masculine sort of shake, winked, and left them, wishing Bucky luck on his way out. “Come on up when you’re done, Darce. And no arguing. I don’t want you alone in here anymore. Executive decision.”

Before she could protest, the door shut behind him.

Leaving the two of them alone.

He stood. “I know,” he whispered as he gathered her close. “Come back to you or you’ll never forgive me.”

She swallowed, rising to meet him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “You bet your ass, Barnes.”

He smiled, tightening his embrace until she squeaked. “I’ll do my best.” He pressed his face into the soft skin of her neck, just there, where it met her shoulder. “I love you.”

Her throat closing, she swallowed, blinking away the sudden damnable tears in her eyes. “I know.”

His hands pressed into the small of her back. “I’ve gotta go.”

She nodded, taking a step back from him and clearing her throat roughly. “Call as soon as you can. And be careful. Can’t have you getting caught poking around. I doubt they programmed their soldier to be curious. And don’t do anything stu—”

He pulled her in for a kiss, long and full, and she mewled in surprise against his mouth. When he finally released her, she was dizzy. “I know.”

Without looking back, he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

She sat down hard on the couch and picked up her tablet. For a while, she watched his progress through the satellite connection of his contact lens, marveling at Tony’s microscopic genius.

Then she turned it off and went to shower.

 

The next three days were a flurry of activity.

Steve and Natasha went back to the Fridge to search out more information from any HYDRA agents in custody. They also accompanied the move of the grunts still in holding in the Tower from the attempted attack when Bucky was taken to the Fridge.

Tony continued combing through every file he could open, obsessed with finding anything that could help them.

He’d insisted, after Bucky left, that she go and get a few changes of clothes, and her toiletries and take the guest room in his and Pepper’s suite.

It was nice there. Huge and warm and inviting, the way Pepper had designed it, full of earthy reds and browns, and while she knew they went out of their way to include her, she found she didn’t mind. When she brought it up, Pepper got extremely territorial and told her to shut her mouth and family did for family, and she couldn’t stand knowing that in the apartment below them, someone was lonely.

Tony practically tucked her in that night like she was a child and tried to convince her again that it was no bother and that the room was empty anyway.

Darcy constantly kept one eye on the screen showing Bucky’s view. So far, they’d determined the address to be yet another abandoned warehouse, indeed, in Queens, and while Darcy felt better knowing where he was and what was going on around him, watching him act like his alter self was jarring and gave her the creeps. Every time she patched in, Tony would give her a severe look and she could tell he wished she would leave it to him. He did, in fact, spend most of his time holed up in a tiny back room. Once in a while, Lukin would come in and bait him, but he remained stoic as Darcy attempted to read the Russian’s lips.

It was eerie.

At that point, Tony would make her close it out, and he would update her later that he’d been put on hold until HYDRA had a new target. On the third day, he scowled at her. “Don’t be masochistic, Short Stack. He’s smart. And he’s a big boy.” Once he went so far as to take it away from her to insist she go to sleep.

She sighed and didn’t argue. After all, he was right, on all three counts.

But that didn’t stop her from doing it anyway, after a little late night sneaking, when the lights were low and she couldn’t sleep. She’d patch in and set it aside to watch. He’d not done much in the past few days other than follow his recon orders, likely to make sure he’d gotten the contact through under the radar. At some point, though, he’d obviously managed to scrounge up a piece of paper and a pen. He wrote to her, his neat scrawl unrolling for her to read.

_Lukin’s been edgy all day, so I’ve gotta make a move at some point tonight, doll. Turn off the feed. I don’t want you to watch._

A long pause.

_It’s freezing in here; wish you were here to warm me up._

She smiled.

_Love you. Go to sleep. I mean it. This is my serious voice._

She hesitated, smirking, her finger on the tablet’s button.

_Go, babe. Seriously._

So, sighing, she did.

 

 

Bucky bit his lip as he stared at the phone, leaning back against the brick of the alleyway, trying not shiver in the cold night.

Tony answered right away. “Problem, _Mister Ten Below_?”

Bucky paused, his brow quirking as he searched his memory of pop culture references and came up empty.

“Get it?” Stark asked, stubborn humor in his voice. “’Cause you’re the _Winter_ Soldier, and there’s that song from that old, stop-action Christmas movie from, like, _a hundred years ago_ —never mind.”

Bucky sighed. Humor was Tony’s way of diffusing his own tension; one just had to roll with it. Steve had taken a really God-awful long time to figure that out.

“Whatcha need, Buck?”

“Um…”

There was beeping and clicking, then the sound of Tony’s rolling chair moving over tile. “Go on. Shoot. Couldn’t sleep, too nervous, so I’m sitting in my home office.”

He took a breath, the adrenaline kicking in, hard, familiar. “It’s him.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. “What?”

“It’s _him_ ,” he stuttered. “It’s _Schmidt_. It’s Johann Schmidt, the _Red Skull_ is down in the computer, Tony— _he is the computer_.”

Another long pause. “…Are you sure?”

He pulled his metal hand through his hair. “Yes. But…I blew my cover.”

Another long pause. “ _Seriously_?”

He sighed. “ _Yes_. I’m getting _soft_ , living with _you people_. Someone saw me. I wasn’t sure, but then the computer started making a racket, and Lukin was screaming orders, and—and— _and it started talking_. It was _talking_ , Tony,” he stammered. “The _computer_ , and I barely got outta there with my life.”

“Oh, shit,” Tony declared.

“Yeah, _no kidding_ , Stark. _Now_ what?”

His shrug was practically audible. “Come home.”

He blinked. “ _What_?”

“Come home. There’s nothing for you there, now. We’ve got all the intel we need. We’ll be raiding the place tomorrow, and I’ll be mocking up a virus that we’ll use to take out Schmidt once and for all.”

He hesitated, looking back, over his shoulder. “Tony…”

“Buck…I’m _serious_. They’ll know you faked it, sure, but it won’t be any progress lost.”

He sighed again. “It’ll be _all this_ progress potentially lost. Maybe I can get back in and—”

“You’re not hearing me: _It’s not worth your life_.”

“ _Who’s_ life, Tony? Mine or _his_?”

Tony was silent for a long moment. “Okay. Let’s just sidestep the notion, right now, that you’re two different people, when, in fact, _you’re not_ , and I’ll just get down to the point. She’s _hopelessly_ in love with you. You know that, right?”

Some unnamable feeling gripped him, and he couldn’t speak.

“You go in there and _die_ , you will _shatter_ her.”

“Tony—”

“I don’t know what she told you about her reaction to your kidnapping, but I was there. It wasn’t pretty. It was _awful_. I can’t tell you how awful it was, and everyone knows I’m the man with all the words. It was probably one of the most horrific moments of my life, and _stop for a second and consider that sentence_.”

He sighed.

“She fell. Apart. _Hard_. I’m talking denial, then anger, then three shots on an empty stomach. I’m talking migraines that nearly tore her apart, but we’ve already discussed this. I’ve never seen that girl so much as flinch at all the crazy stupid shit that we deal with on a regular _Tuesday_ , Buck, but she turned around and had _the worst_ panic attack I have _ever_ seen. It took me and Steve _both_ to calm her down. Natasha had to go and get Bruce.”

His stomach turned over.

“I don’t normally impose with JARVIS, but I was worried about her. I patched into the system that night, the night they took you.” His voice had lowered to a sad little murmur. “Girl was curled up on the kitchen floor.”

He felt sick.

“After Maria climbed down her throat like Darce is some _Eva Braun_ , she sat in there for _three days_ , staring out the window. I’m talking _clinical_ depression, kid. I finally showed up with Steve just to get her to eat. She slept in his bed for the night while he and Natasha took the fold out couch, just so someone was with her.”

He swallowed, his voice rough. “Tony…”

“It was _bad_. Think about it before you go back in there. Because, kid, it ain’t just your life anymore. I _know_ you want to put this to bed, okay?”

He swallowed. “I—”

“No, _listen to me_. I _know_ what this means to you. I _do_. You feel like you have to finish what you started, but kid, you didn’t _start_ anything. All you are, is just another victim in a long line of victims of the _unspeakable_ evil of HYDRA, by far _the worst victim_. But this isn’t just your battle. _You asked her to marry you_.”

He sighed.

“Think about this in your own terms, kid. You got a girl at home, waiting for you. You don’t think you can do this and make it home to her, you _don’t do it_. Don’t storm the beach. _You come home_. You put this phone down, you leave it behind, and you come home. Raid it with us tomorrow, but _come home now_.”

He swallowed, cursing the tears in his eyes.

“I almost lost Pep a couple years back, when I was in your shoes, kid. You don’t have to fight them alone. Come in outta the cold. You did it once, you can do it again.”

He hedged, a tear slipping down one cheek. “I’m the only one on the inside, Tony. All that work for _nothing_.”

“ _It’s not nothing_. I’m looking at your pinging tracker right now. I’ve been following your signal around since you left. You’ve pinned their location for us and tomorrow, you’ve given us eyes on the inside. We’ll be taking them out and I’ll be loading a virus onto their databases. Come home. _Tony Stark is begging you_. It shall not leave this conversation.”

He laughed damply.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone here. You’ve already done that. _Screw_ Maria, if she wants to be a bitch. Just come back to your girl.”

“ _Tony_ …”

“Put the phone down. God, I sound like a counselor on one end of a suicide prevention line—and _that’s not funny_. Come home to her. She’s sound asleep, about twenty yards from me right now, she’s all curled up like she’s freezing. I’ll let you in, it’ll be like you never left.”

Silence.

“It’s _easy_. You’ve already snuck away for this call. It’s easier than you think it is, it’s _so much easier than it feels, kid_.”

He stood there for a long moment, looking up and down the alley.

“You with me?” Tony asked.

He took a breath. “Alright. I’m on my way.”

 

 

He never made it.

Tony waited. First he waited in the lobby with JARVIS, getting updates from the AI every two minutes. Nothing.

Then he went out, combing the surrounding block. Nothing.

He went back upstairs to ping his tracker again—and it was gone. The connection to it and the contact were broken, the feed just a black screen.

Dread circled his heart like water around a drain.


	8. Second Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which major shit hits a really huge fan. Like seriously (if you haven't seen Elizabethtown, go do that immediately--after you read this, of course) and wait for Alec Baldwin's hilarious delivery in the first twenty minutes. Like him or not, that moment is golden. 
> 
> Warning: Severe Angst Ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, I'm back. I told you not to worry and I promised I wouldn't keep you waiting, so here we are, the next chapter! I swear to God, you guys, I don't really plan on these awful cliffhangers. I've been trying to keep chapter size consistent, though, and it's a little harder than it sounds. So I wind up spacing it out, but that's in the middle of a scene, and the next one always seems to end with a bit of a mark, so I'm really not trying to do it on purpose...Please don't kill me. haha
> 
> Anyway...here I am with my answer to my own restlessness with this story. I wasn't sure it was working, like I said, and went back to edit and this...this...big idea popped into my head. It certainly leaves room for a lot more in terms of sequels, unlike my first iteration, but I'm a little leery over it still, even though I'm posting it. I really, really, really hope this works. I haven't seen this done much in our particular corner, though, so hopefully it does.
> 
> That being said, please let me know what you're thinking. I've left this in a place that isn't an awful cliffhanger, so it's not only longer, but leaves a little room to be fixed if you're not feeling it, and therefore, leaves some things (nothing major, don't worry) hanging. And again, sorry if this looks weird, the site keeps uploading weird, like it totally takes out all my paragraph and dialogue indents...Grrr...
> 
> Really hope you enjoy! Seriously: let me know. I hope I'm not about to disappoint you guys... :)

Darcy was securing her thin, Kevlar vest when Steve walked in, unannounced and looking a little like a raging bull—which was saying something, considering how gorgeous and soft-spoken he usually was. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Darcy, but—”

“ _Don’t start_ , Steve,” she cut him off, turning her back on him to watch in the mirror as she pulled her hair back into a high ponytail, out of her face and off her shoulders. “You’ll lose.” Even she heard the hardness in her voice, the anger. The exhaustion. She’d come back down to their place to change that morning.

Steve stopped a few feet behind her and eyed her reflection, hard. “Darcy, you _can’t_ come along. This is a raid. Not only that, but he would absolutely _flay me alive_ if he—”

“What? Found out you brought a civilian along?” she snapped. “I’m _not_ a civilian.”

He sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re not an _agent_ , either.”

She glared at him through the mirror. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve taken down men your size on my own before.”

His brows shot up. “You _have_?”

She turned and frowned at him, hands on hips. “My fiancé is _the Winter Soldier_. What do you think?”

He took a step back, and Darcy had learned enough about body language in the past year to note that it appeared she’d put him on the defensive. Good. Natasha would be proud. “Darce, I won’t be able to keep an eye on you while we’re in there.”

She shrugged. “You won’t _have_ to. Because I’ll be systematically _emasculating_ every HYDRA agent between me and where they’re keeping him.”

His ears went pink. “I don’t like this idea.”

“What?” She cocked her head. “Me emasculating or…?”

He dropped down onto the end of the bed and pulled a hand down his face. “Darcy—”

She leaned over and stuck her face right in his, making sure to hold his gaze. “ _You aren’t stopping me from going to him_. Are you listening?”

He bit his lip, looking pained.

“He’s done _so_ much fighting. It’s _my_ turn. I owe him that much.” She walked away, leaving him sitting there as she went over to her jewelry box, pulling it open and pulling out a silver chain. This one was shorter than the last one she’d worn, but it would do. She took off her ring and slid it on, then closed the clasp around her neck. “Are you coming or were you planning on spending the morning sitting there brooding?” She crossed to his go bag and rifled around before pulling out the SIG. She pulled it back and surveyed the full clip, then slid it into the holster she’d strapped to her waist. Then she pulled out one of his Gerber blades and stuck that through the loop on her belly. Then she did the same with another blade on her thigh and added one of his Glocks to her other hip. “Come on, Captain Tightpants. No time to waste.”

He stood and followed her, looking one part angry and harsh, the other defeated and resigned. “Darcy, I really don’t like this.”

She closed the door behind them and slid her card into her back pocket. “You don’t have to. I’m going anyw—” She was jerked to a stop as an arm slid around her throat in a chokehold.

But her instinct took over faster than she would’ve expected and she twisted, tugging and using the force of her momentum to throw her shoulder forward.

Natasha hit the floor with a gasp, staring up at her with mild surprise.

“ _Nat_?!” Steve exclaimed, staring in shock at his wife, sprawled on the floor.

Natasha only smiled that smile of hers as she hauled herself up. “ _Impressive_ , Lewis.”

She shrugged, reaching up to tighten her loosened ponytail.

Natasha dusted herself off. “Had to make sure you were on point.”

Steve was still standing there, staring, open-mouthed.

Natasha smirked and swatted him on the stomach of his patriotic uniform. “Shut your mouth, there, Rogers. Just a training exercise.” She eyed Darcy. “He’s got you on the mark, that’s for sure.”

Darcy grinned thinly. “Practiced that for two weeks.”

An eyebrow chinked up. “You throw him over?”

“ _Finally_. No idea if he _let_ me…”

Natasha shrugged one shoulder. “Probably not, knowing him.” She took off down the hall. “Let’s go, guys.” She glanced back at her husband. “That means you, Rogers. Look sharp, Cap.”

She was in the truck with Tony—and only Tony—which made her strangely nervous. “Why aren’t you just flying in with your armor?” she asked, side-eyeing him as he drove the Land Rover down a side street.

“Too obvious,” was his only comment. “Gotta be discreet with this one.”

She nodded.

They fell into silence as they drove. Through Brooklyn. Hell’s Kitchen. Finally, they crossed into Queens, drove in what felt like a few dozen circles, and stopped in a back alley, where he parked.

She went to get out—

“Wait, Short Stack.”

She froze.

“Listen, Darce…”

She felt her defensive walls creeping back up.

“I know you can take care of yourself. And I know there’ll be no dissuading you, so I won’t do you the disrespect of trying.”

She swallowed. “Thank you.”

“That doesn’t mean I want you diving in without thinking.”

She sighed. “I’ve been in a combat situation a few times before, Tony,” she reminded him wryly.

“I know.” He held up a hand. “And I know that you know how handle yourself. And I know you’re good under pressure. Just…don’t get distracted. That’s the key, here, for you in particular. Don’t. Get. Distracted. Okay? It might mean your life.” His eyes bored into hers.

Biting her lip, she nodded. “Got it.”

“I worry about you enough, kid. Don’t give me another reason, okay?”

She nodded.

They climbed out and he led her around the back of the truck and opened the hatch. “You’re pretty decked out, there, so you won’t need much. I know you’re good with the SIG, but you know how to handle the Glock?”

She nodded. “Less so, but enough.”

He nodded. “Okay, good enough. Don’t pull those unless you have to. We need as many alive as we can, alive means intel.”

“Got it.”

He rifled around and handed her two tiny silver balls. “EMP spheres. Need to explain?”

She shook her head and pocketed them. “Nope. Sweet.”

“He teach you how to pick a lock? Sometimes you never know when you’re gonna run into something old school.”

“Yep. I’m down to a minute. Which sucks.”

“Better than nothing, just keep your eye on the ball.” He handed her a small black gun. “Here. Taser. Police issue, except, you know, better. This one doesn’t work with wires. Apply pressure and you’re good to go. Direct to the body. Worked on that especially for you.”

“Aww. Thanks, Tony.” Grinning, she slid it into the back of her waistband. “Nice toys, Boss Man.”

“Hey—” He started.

She laughed. “I know, don’t call you—”

But he cut her off when he yanked her roughly into a hug, a huge one, and tight. She gasped.

He held her close. “Don’t get dead, Lewis,” he murmured, and she swore his mouth came down on her head.

Her eyes pricked. “You too.”

They parted reluctantly as the next truck pulled up behind them and Sam, Steve, and Natasha climbed out.

Sam’s jaw dropped open when he saw her. “ _Wow_ , girl, you look—”

“Like an idiot?” she suggested.

But he shook his head, chuckling in awe. “I was gonna say ‘ _badass’_.” An impish grin. “Wait ‘til he sees you lookin’ like that…”

“Like what?” Steve grumbled as he came around the truck.

“Like an agent,” Natasha filled in as she came over, pulling her own set of EMP spheres out and sliding them somewhere hidden.

Steve scowled at her. “She’s _not_.”

“Careful, Steve,” Tony said as he laid his armored briefcase on the ground and toed the release. “She might tase you. She’s really good at it.” The armor rose up and swallowed him whole, and she grinned as the faceplate slid down with a clang. The pissed off expression he’d used always gave her fantastic chills.

Steve rolled his eyes, but turned to the rest of the group, calling the shots. “Okay, Sam, you and Clint take the front entrance with Thor. They’re already there waiting for you. The rest of us will take the back way.” He gestured to the huge double doors they stood outside.

Sam took off on foot. “I’ll radio when we’re in position.”

They gathered before the doors.

“Darcy, you better not die or I am in huge trouble, _do you understand_?” Steve snapped.

Darcy rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Steve.”

“Stark, you’ve got the virus uploaded?”

“Ready to go, Cap.” His voice was so strange and echoed in the helmet of his armor. “Just gotta see what sorta system they’re rockin’ in there.”

“Ready when you are, Cap,” came Sam’s voice through their coms.

He turned and looked at Natasha. Their eyes met and they communicated silently for a moment. Then he sighed, stepped forward, and kicked the doors wide, sending them slamming open.

There were fewer than Steve had worried, Darcy was sure, but more than she felt comfortable with. Three dozen men, maybe four, were all milling around at stations, small machines beeping, computers running—

And there was a large terminal there—way at the back, on the other side of the building, where Thor had just rammed the doors open opposite them. A chill ran down Darcy’s spine.

Immediately, the room flew into action, guns drawn, shots fired, and she ducked, throwing herself to the ground, and she and Natasha rolled off to the side.

Natasha took on two men at once, but Darcy pressed herself to the wall, peering wildly around—

There.

Clear on the other side of the warehouse, a small room. Drawing her knife, she began her long trek across the football field worth of space. They’d discussed this late last night, she and Tony and Natasha. Tony had come in after one and woken her up, confessing that he’d lost contact with Bucky and that he thought it was as good a time as any to go in, especially with Bucky’s confirmation of Schmidt’s presence.

With a stiff chin, she’d called up Natasha so they could formulate a plan without nervous-Nelly Steve, who she knew would forbid her accompaniment.

She’d somehow gained enough of Tony and Nat’s confidence to sidestep their own arguments, and she could see the acceptance in Natasha’s eyes that since she had to get her feet wet eventually, this was probably the moment.

Her single goal—aside from basic backup for virus-armed Tony—was to get to Bucky and ascertain what sort of shape he was in and get him out as discreetly as possible.

She just had to get past this huge guy first.

God, he was _gigantic_.

He gave her a grim, predatory smile.

“ _Ugh_ ,” she muttered, squaring off against him.

He came at her hard, punching out with his right, then leveraging a kick with his left, a ridiculous combination that Bucky would’ve clucked his tongue at. Darcy easily dodged both, able to find a small opening near his hip that she struck out at, grazing him with her blade. His clothes shredded beneath the needle edge, and she felt the plastic shear through skin and make contact.

He snarled, grabbing at his injured waist, before blindly striking out with his arm again. She batted his blow out of the way and pulled the taser from her waist, applying it to his middle and pushing the trigger button. He shivered and shook, before his eyes slipped closed and he collapsed to the concrete floor.

She sighed and straightened, took note that she wasn’t even particularly winded, and went on her way.

Another monster of a man took her on another twenty yards across, smaller but stockier. He was less full of creepy humor, though, and twice as determined. He nailed her once, hard, in the collar bone, and she gasped, the air sucked straight out of her as her feet propelled her back of their own accord. She clenched her jaw shut, glaring up at her opponent. “You _dick_.”

He grinned.

She checked her grip on her knife again and struck out on the offensive, folding her hand around it and punching up, into a nice uppercut. Her hand throbbed at the contact, but she bit through it, sending him sprawling unexpectedly. Again, she went to it with her taser and went on her way. She pressed a finger to her com as she walked. “Compliments on the taser, Boss Man. This thing is seriously fucking wicked.”

There was a pause, then, “I thought we talked about this nickname, Short Stack.”

She smirked. “Hey, long as I’m _Short Stack_ , you’re _Boss Man_ , Boss Man. That’s how it works.”

“We’re gonna have to revisit the rules.”

She wasn’t sure where he was, and she didn’t dare look around and risk distracting her attention. She was nearly there, now, and she didn’t want to screw it up, her stomach all in knots at the prospect of him behind that door.

“You see the terminal, Darce?” Tony asked through her piece.

“Yep. Looks seriously old school.”

“Think you can hack it?”

She snorted. “You serious?”

“Point taken.”

God, she hoped he was okay… She’d been pressing the fear down the entirety of the time since she’d found out he’d gone radio silent, but now up it came, swallowing her whole, and she gulped, trying to focus on slowing her heart rate.

She arrived and stood there for a moment, studying the door, one eye out for would-be attackers. Hm. There was a panel on the wall with a digital display. Nothing visible keeping the door shut. So she wouldn’t need her lock picks. Definitely the EMP sphere to knock out any digital means of sealing it. She pulled one out of her pocket and studied it. Two pieces of metal, half the sphere each, and a glowing blue center. Looked like she had to pull the sides apart. “What sort of range do these spheres have, Tony?” she asked into her piece.

“Five feet, super short range. Pull them apart, set them down, they’ll create a dome pulse.” He sounded extremely distracted, and there was clanking in the background, but again, she forced herself not to look. He could take care of himself.

“Got it.” She gripped it between both hands—

And was shoved—hard, and she stumbled forward and nearly face-planted on the cold floor, a shriek escaping her throat as she righted her balance and swung a look around.

Niccolo. And some other thug. Both of them were grinning.

The EMP sphere went rolling off to trails unknown.

She groaned. “ _Seriously_? You can’t just crawl back into the pit you hauled yourself out of—is it Niccolo or some shit?”

He grinned. “You remember me? Good.”

She sighed, readjusting her grip on Bucky’s knife. She was getting a feel for it. Not that she figured she was capable of doing what he’d done in the overpass fight with Steve. God, she’d never seen anyone’s hands move so fast with a blade… “Oh? Why’s that? Bored since the New Year?”

He snorted. “Good because I’ve wanted to wring the life out of you slowly in payment for the wonderful job you did electrocuting me, you little American _bitch_.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s not like being from America is something I brag about, _bucko_. And I enjoyed tasing you, so consider it free of charge. Purely for my own pleasure.”

He snarled and came at her. She lithely ducked out of his reach, darting her arm out to clip him in the knee with her blade. He growled, and kicked out instead, nailing her in the same shoulder she’d taken the lick to at her collar bone.

She gasped, but didn’t go down, flinching in pain. Instead, she used her low stance to level a kick to his legs, sending him sprawling unexpectedly, his ass landing hard on the concrete. He shouted.

The other thug laughed and coiled his arm around her throat in a chokehold. Gagging, she leaned forward quickly, but he wouldn’t go over. Not that she was surprised, really. He was larger than Bucky by at least fifty pounds, not that Bucky wouldn’t kick his ass in under sixty seconds.

So she settled for writhing around, scowling as she watched Niccolo pull himself up from the floor, snarling at her.

“You little _whore_ ,” he said, but that was about all he had time for, because Darcy used the other thug’s weight to pull her legs up and use the momentum to aim another kick at Niccolo’s middle. The resulting momentum from that was enough to give her the freedom to move for her taser, and the thus he released her in short order.

Niccolo, breathless and very not happy, rushed her again, and she spun, darting to the side out of his way, swinging with her knife again and leaving a gash on his exposed arm. He cried out harshly and watched the blood blossom on his skin in surprise.

She rushed to the small room’s door and pounded on it with her fist. “You better _fucking_ be alive in there, soldier!” she bellowed, hoping the metal wasn’t as thick as it looked.

A long moment stretched.

Fear gnawed at her gut as she watched Niccolo recover, terror that he’d already been eliminated threatening to well up and swallow her whole. Then—

“Darcy?!”

Relief was a cool balm on her entire body. “Jamie!”

“ _What the fuck are you doing here?!_ ”

But she had to dart quickly out of Niccolo’s way, slashing out with her knife again and catching his hand.

She laughed.

This only seemed to make him angrier.

“ _Darcy_?!”

Niccolo came at her again, faster. “Come here, you _bitch_!”

“ _Darcy_!”

She remembered what Bucky had drilled into her head. _Most of your opponents are going to be bigger than you, Darce. Use that to your advantage. Get low when you can. Strike from below, keep out of reach. Then go in from higher up, only when you’ve got the advantage. You’re small. That means you’ll be quicker than them, overall. Remember, with most of these men: they can’t kill you if they can’t catch you._

She faced off against Niccolo again, clenching her jaw as he dove after her. She darted out of the way, slicing out with the knife, but missed.

“ _Darcy_!” Bucky barked again, his voice loud through the metal of the door. Ooh, boy, he was not happy. She wasn’t sure which was worse—him or Steve. Probably Steve. She couldn’t ply Steve with anything to… _distract_ him. Not that Bucky was particularly susceptible to that, damn it. Ever the soldier…

She was distracted from answering again as Niccolo grabbed at her, hauling her near by the long tail of her hair. She let out a shout of frustration more than pain, but used the momentum to throw herself around and against him, leveraging a kick to his middle that actually worked. She dropped to the concrete and bounced back up onto her feet.

For a moment, she was shocked at her own resourcefulness. She’d really had no idea she was so far along in her training to actually make her this useful in this scenario, but either these men were idiots or she was faring much better than she’d ever expected. She couldn’t wait for Natasha to show her that trick with the leg lock.

He hauled himself up and leveled her with a considering look.

“Darcy— _God damn it_!” Ooh, temper, temper.

“ _Little busy_!” she yelled as Niccolo came at her again, but this was getting old, fast, and she darted out of the way again and back over to the door, pulling the only sphere she had left out of her pocket. “’Case you hadn’t noticed, we’re all a little preoccupied,” she added as she slid to a stop. “Step back from the door, I have no idea if this will affect your arm!” She tugged the two pieces apart and set them on the floor, then stepped away, watching closely.

“ _What the fuck are you doing here, Darcy_?!”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, they sent up a sparkling blue arc overhead, about six feet tall, a small dome that flashed and pulsed. In a blink, it was over, and the screen beside the door flickered, zapped, and went dark. There was a clank in the general area of the door and she sighed in relief, watching Niccolo collect himself again out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, shut up, and just get out here,” she called, rolling her eyes as she turned to meet her opponent again. “God, don’t you just give up, dude? For _reals_?”

She let him body slam her to the ground, and she felt the ache in her tailbone as they crashed to the floor.

He wrapped his right hand around her throat, squeezing. Her left arm was pinned, so she struggled to twist around so her right could grab the spare blade at her left side. “You cannot stop us. Cut off one head…”

She rolled her eyes.

“ _You cannot stop us_. Soon, New York will be a charred ruin, and the rest of the world will follow.”

Air was leaking out of her and she twisted desperately, feeling everything in her stiffen under the pressure of his body and his ministrations.

But finally, she was able to take up the blade, and she twisted it around in her hand, finally burying it in his shoulder, wincing as she felt the knife strike and slide against bone, scraping in her grip.

He howled, rolling off her to the floor, grabbing at his shoulder.

Gulping in air, she clambered to her feet.

He made a last-ditch grab at her legs, but she stepped over him, stepping straight onto his middle, and he convulsed as his body was forced to take her weight. She stepped off, pulled the knife from his shoulder, and saw the door to the tiny room was open, and she leveled a kick to his middle, her boot making contact with his gut. He was done, blood leaking from his shoulder to pool on the floor.

Breathless, she turned to find Bucky standing there, arms crossed, his eyes ablaze as he stared at their scene. “Hey. What’s up?”

He nodded at Niccolo. “Nice job, letting him in like that. You gotta be careful, though, you give them room that way. I almost stepped in.”

She nodded, swallowing past her dry throat. “Yeah. Got that.”

And then the curious moment snapped and he was crossing to her in three rapid strides and his large hands were closing around her arms, yanking her closer. “ _What the fuck are you doing here?!_ ” he snapped, leveling her with that icy blue gaze, his brows drawn like the Winter Soldier.

She rolled her eyes as he jerked her in anger. “I’m here for you, you _dumbass_.”

He released her roughly, and she stumbled. “ _Fucking_ hell, Darcy…”

She tightened her ponytail. “Ooh, you like that word when you’re pissed. And my full name—I’m in trouble, eh?”

He snarled, closing the space between them again. “We’ll talk about this _later_ —”

She waved a hand. “Oh, careful now, don’t go all 1940 on me—you won’t get far.”

But he tugged her in and plied her with a hard, forceful kiss, and her knees shook. “ _God_ , _please_ , Darcy…” he murmured as he released her.

“Please, what? _Don’t_ come for you when you’re in trouble? Isn’t this a partnership? I thought we were a team? Remember?”

He sighed, the anger fading from his eyes. They slowly warmed again. “Darcy—”

“You realize how ridiculous this is, right—having a heated discussion in the middle of all this?” She gestured around, her eyes finally lighting on Tony, who was busy taking down three men at once, all firing on his suit. As she watched, one of the bullets refracted off his armor and struck one of them, sending him sprawling, dead, blood trickling from the fresh hole in his temple. She turned back to him. “How’s your arm? Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “I’m _fine_ , it’s fine.”

“Oh, good!” So she took the opportunity and slapped him—hard—across the face, angry. “ _Where the fuck were you last night?!_ Tony waited on _pins and needles_ —”

He drew her close, wincing at her strike. “I know, I’m _sorry_ —”

“You _goddamn_ soldiers—”

“It wasn’t by _choice_ , I was coming back—”

“You _better_ have—”

“Someone tailed me. _Obviously_ , I was distracted, I was _sloppy_. I’m losing my edge. They drugged me and I woke up this morning locked in there again. They found the contact.” But that was tossed away. “Are you alright?” He tugged on her shoulder and frowned at her collar bone. “You took a healthy shot here.”

“I’m _fine_.” She slid out of his grip reluctantly. “We gotta go, babe.”

He looked around.

There weren’t many left. Tony had taken out his group and Sam was darting around, plucking off Thor’s opponents. Natasha felled one as they watched, her Widow’s Bites zapping, and Clint was sliding out of his hiding spot, dragging Lukin along by the collar and into the middle of the room. He approached them with a smirk. “Look who I found, hiding in a crawlspace. And he had some familiar looking tech hidden in his little pocket.” He held up a small plastic box.

Lukin was pale, but silent.

“Well, what a coincidence,” Steve said as he joined them. “Hey, bud. How ya been?”

Lukin’s eyes were cold on Bucky. “You. _Turncoat_.”

Bucky grinned that playboy grin and shrugged one shoulder. “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always wanted to be a double agent. And it’s fun to stick it to you HYDRA assholes, huh, Lukin?!” he laughed a false laugh and clapped the man hard—hard—on the back, making him flinch and cower.

“You won’t get _anything_ out of me,” he murmured coolly, looking up at Bucky with an odd mix of contempt and respect. “Just know that soon our plan will find a way to commence, and _all of New York will burn_.”

“Right, okay, buddy. Let’s go,” Sam said, shaking his head. He took his other arm and he and Clint headed off toward the doors.

“I should think long and hard about my forthcoming words, Sir,” Thor threatened, his voice low, as he accompanied them. “My comrades at SHIELD shall decorate a special chamber in their vaults especially for you.” He hefted Mjolnir in his hand with a scowl and followed them through the doors.

“The containment truck is in the back. I parked just behind you,” Clint was saying as the doors shut behind them.

“What should we do with everyone else, here?” Natasha asked, hooking up an eyebrow in her husband’s direction.

Steve looked around, considering the men littering the ground. “Well, we can call Hill for evac and then—”

“ _Steven Rogers_.”

They all froze as the deep, accented voice echoed around them in the vast space.

“ _Or was that, ‘A kid from Brooklyn?’ I forget_.’”

Steve looked stricken as he turned to face the massive computer on the other end of the warehouse. It was old, like the very first computers, an entire wall in size, with dozens and dozens of buttons and keys and knobs, small flashing bulbs. Old school.

“Schmidt.” Steve had gone pale.

Bucky nodded. “Found him last night…”

Nat set a hand to his chest.

“ _In the flesh—or, sorry, perhaps that is being a bit too…literal_.” A green light on the terminal flashed in time as the voice echoed in the room.

Slowly, they all approached, looking at each other warily.

“JARVIS, do a scan,” Tony said.

There was a pause. “ _The terminal appears to be active. Dating back to approximately 1945._ ”

“’Operation Paperclip _catching you a little by surprise, good Captain_?” the German taunted.

“I watched you die,” Steve declared grimly as they reached the front of the terminal. “You were devoured by the Tesseract.”

“ _Or, perhaps I devoured it, no_?”

“ _Bullshit_ , Hitler Jr. That’s not how it works,” Tony said, his voice cold.

“ _And if I was down in the databanks before that occurred? What then, good Avengers? The Cosmic Cube may have devoured my flesh, but my consciousness lives on. My intentions live on._ ”

“ _The energy coming from the interface does, indeed, appear to have a sentient design, Sir,_ ” JARVIS added. “ _I am unsure how such an occurrence might be realized. According to the latest scientific journals, a difference engine identical to a human mind, yet different from current Artificial Intelligence is some years off_.”

“Yeah, well, I’m never surprised when HYDRA invents something new to creep everyone out with,” Bucky snarked beside Darcy, his metal hand at the small of her back.

Natasha was clinging to Steve’s arm and making it look careless rather than desperate with fear and loathing.

Before anyone could say anything else, Tony stepped forward and stuck what looked like a tiny USB into an open unit in the terminal. “JARVIS, go to it. Find anything you can on this ‘ _burning New York’_ crap.”

“ _Yes, Sir_.”

“ _Do what you will, mightiest heroes_ ,” Schmidt’s voice drawled. “ _There is nothing that can be done to stop me. My will lives on. Are you upset, Captain Rogers, to find out, all these years later, that your death was for nothing?_ ”

“Don’t let him goad you, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “He did it once. Don’t let him do it again. Just another bully. _There’s even an alleyway_.”

Steve paused to look at him, hard, his eyes narrowing, his mouth curling at the corner. “You remember that?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I got _amnesia_ , punk, not a _frontal lobotomy_.”

“ _Copy complete, Sir. Quite a bit to data mine, if I do say so myself_ ,” JARVIS announced.

“ _Barnes, James Buchanan_ ,” Schmidt’s voice said, pausing as it worked through files. “ _Known alias: The Winter Soldier. You have done good work, young man. Shame you had to defect_.”

Bucky snorted. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say, ‘ _Hail, HYDRA’_ or did you wanna cover that for me?”

“ _Have you told Mr. Stark about the method with which you dispatched his parents, yet_?”

He froze.

Tony looked over at them.

“ _Or has he kept that from you as well, Mr. Stark_?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but Tony cut him off. “Sewing discord is usually _my_ forte, there, big guy. Sorta sounds lame coming from someone else.” He cocked his head. “Or is that some _thing_ else? I’m not sure…”

Bucky stared.

Tony shrugged. “I _already knew_ , kid. But thanks for holding out for me.” He winked. “Well, Short Stack? What do you say we hijack this plane and put it on the ground, hey?”

Darcy stepped forward next to him and they slowly approached the interface.

“JARVIS, anything wonky on the physical scan?”

“ _Nothing I am able to detect, Sir, but might I suggest caution_?”

“You always do, and your concern gives me the warm fuzzies, J.” He stepped up and inspected the metal, the buttons and knobs, the small screen, studying the face of Johann Schmidt, dark hair, thin skeletal features, hard eyes. “Glad to see you haven’t aged a day, man. You look just as creepy as ever.”

“ _My thanks, Mr. Stark. I might suggest you don’t get too close. There is nothing you can do to stop me_.”

Tony produced another drive from somewhere in his suit. “Oh, I don’t know about that. The good guys have a few tricks up their sleeves, too. Darce?”

She nodded. “I’ll get you a pathway in.” She started typing away at the one of the keyboard terminals, her brows drawn close as she frowned at the nearest screen, the lines of code.

“ _And who is this pretty creature attempting to bypass my firewall, hm_?”

“Oh, I’m not _attempting_ ,” she answered as she hit two more keys with a decided air. “I’m _already in_. Try and keep up, there, _HAL_.” She nodded at Tony. “Go for it. He’s wide open.”

Tony plugged in the drive and started typing away on his end, too.

“ _You disarmed Mr. Niccolo_ ,” Schmidt continued as though he hadn’t noticed. Of course, by the time he did, it would be too late…

She smirked. “If by ‘ _disarmed’_ you mean ‘ _kicked his ass’_ , then yeah, I did. Felt _really_ good, too. Been wanting to do that for, _literally_ , two months.”

Bucky smirked next to Steve, who was blinking in confusion.

“Besides, he called me a whore. So I kicked him in the gut. He might be bleeding out, now, I’m not really sure.”

“ _Very interesting, this overconfidence_ ,” Schmidt continued to muse, oblivious.

Darcy cocked her head. “Oh? And why’s that? Unheard of for a girl to talk in 1943?”

“ _Sir, I’m getting a strange reading_ ,” JARVIS began.

“One sec, J. Loading the virus.” He paused. “Virus loaded.” He turned to Darcy with a grin. “ _Nice job_ , Short Stack!”

Everyone sighed in relief, laughing.

Tony shook his head. “Well. That feels pretty good.”

But Schmidt wasn’t done. “ _No, no. The overconfidence is interesting, considering you’re standing in a very foolish place._ ”

“ _Sir, I suggest you back away_ —” JARVIS began.

But something came spiking out of the machine then, glancing off of Tony’s armor for a split second before finding purchase. It skewered the armor as he lunged back, out of the way.

He had just enough time to stare at the ragged whole in shock, before he turned to an equally shocked Darcy, his eyes wide and desperate. “ _Darcy, back_ —”

But another spike jerked out of another slot in the machine behind her, impaling her through the belly for a moment, before four vicious prongs jutted out like a grappling hook and pulled, pinning her back against the machine.

Time slowed and all sound and movement went with it, muffled and dim.

She didn’t hear herself gasp brokenly or feel her entire body stiffen as the metal blade slid through her.

She didn’t hear JARVIS as he reported, “ _All systems malfunctioning, Sir_.”

She didn’t see the suit kick him out, smoking and sparking, and leaving Tony in his go gear again, lost and confused.

She didn’t hear Schmidt’s false self realizing with a strange, digital yell, that he’d been infected.

The only thing that she could focus on was the pain, immediate and unlike anything she’d felt before.

She looked down at herself for a moment that seemed to stretch forever, the blood against her black armor, seeping, the metal claws gripping her body to the terminal, then up at the machine, splattered crimson. She wasn’t in control anymore.

She could taste blood in her mouth, sharp and metallic.

She couldn’t feel her legs, either, her whole body like jelly, her eyes wide in pain.

There was a shout, then, and everything flew back into normal time, a roll of movie film rolling up at the end, and someone caught her as she slumped.

She gasped again, everything in her sharpening into focus in response to the awful, burning pain. “Oh, God,” she was able to choke out, Bucky’s face coming into focus before her, and she realized he’d moved like lightning to catch her up before she’d made the damage worse. “Mm…”

Bucky’s face was white as a sheet, his eyes manic. “ _Darce_ …” His voice was raw as he wrapped his metal arm around her waist and his flesh hand cupped her cheek.

She bit her lip, wincing at the pain. “That hurts a little,” she managed.

“Don’t talk,” he begged, his tone going thin.

She struggled feebly to free herself, but her armor protested and she gave a garbled plea as more pain ripped harshly through her.

“Don’t!” Bucky begged. “You’re making it worse!”

Tony was there, watching with wide eyes and a pale face, hovering behind Bucky, trying to study the apparatus and find a way to free her.

“ _I’d imagine it hurts, yes_ ,” Schmidt mused. “ _Of course, sacrifices must be made in order to advance our science and further our world order, yes?_ ”

Darcy wheezed, attempting to block out the pain cutting a burning path through her. “Oh, God, I told myself I wouldn’t go gooey if I ever…”

“Sshhh…” Bucky soothed, but his hand was shaking.

Steve darted forward as though to help, but Natasha held him back, her own face less than composed. “You’ll overwhelm her, Rogers.” Her voice shook.

The pain. God, the pain was crippling. She couldn’t stop her body from shuddering.

“ _After all…it is my duty to deliver the true irony of the day_ …”

And a small metal plate jutted out of the machine behind Darcy’s head and jammed her in the back of the neck, just above her spine. It was square in shape, two inches by two, and had small teeth, rows of tiny prongs that sank into her skin.

She cried out, her eyes screwing shut.

And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, the plate disappearing back into the machine with a metallic clank, a door sliding shut over it, sprayed with blood.

Darcy jerked.

Bucky pawed desperately at the door with his metal hand, but got nowhere, his mind all a tumble of half-thoughts as his nightmare played out before his eyes.

“I can’t work loose the armature!” Tony gasped, his voice desperate and raw with panic.

“ _See, we were still having a bit of trouble with the so-called Super Soldier serum during the War. What we gave to Mr. Barnes was, in fact, very much the same formulation currently running through the veins of the Captain_ …”

“You’re blathering is really hammering home the villain’s soliloquy trope,” Darcy ground out, shaking with the effort of remaining still as Tony pried at the machinery around them.

“ _Unfortunately, the route with which it was administered was…less than ideal_.”

Steve threw a questioning look at his friend.

Bucky just shivered at the memory, the endless tugging to and fro, back and forth, table one minute, getting stuck with needles, back to their chair the next; then back to his cell, where he’d curl in on himself and shiver in agony, unable to keep down any worthless gruel they bothered to give him. Endless prodding and stabbing at the hands of Zola, notes scribbled down as he muttered softly under his breath.

_Agony_.

Even now, it made him flinch.

“ _We’re fairly certain we have perfected the formula and the route of administration now, so many years later, free to do our bidding in this new age of iron and steel._ ”

Horrific realization crashed down on Bucky as he stared at the neat patch of injection points in her neck, his eyes tracking back over the little hidden door in the machinery, then back across the injection points…seeping eerily with some clear fluid…

The serum…

His swallowed thickly, his stomach turning over.

“Oh, shit…” Natasha muttered behind them, continuing in Russian that he didn’t bother to translate, her brain landing on the same conclusion.

“Damn it!” Tony swore. He was lost behind Darcy, crouching in just his black gear, twisted to fit behind her in his attempts to loosen the base of the claw holding her against the machine.

“Oh, God…” Darcy breathed, her eyes losing focus.

“Stay with me, Darcy,” Bucky pleaded.

“No clocking out on us, sweetheart!” Tony added. He stood, then, and went back over to his armor. He pulled loose the gauntlet and slid it onto his hand, the metal folding over his wrist of its own power. He returned and went back to his ministrations.

Just then, the machine gave a gigantic kick, the claw clamped shut and the spike pulled back inside the armament, freeing Darcy to crumple forward.

Bucky gathered her up, laying her out, half on the floor and half in his lap. “Look at me—look at me, doll!” he commanded, sweeping a loose strand of hair off her pale forehead with a trembling hand.

She blinked weakly up at him. “Hey…” Then the dazed look slid into one of suffering and her brows tugged inward as she writhed. “Oh, God…make it stop, Jamie…”

Tony tugged up on her armor and her black t-shirt beneath to reveal a gaping hole in Darcy’s belly, seeping rapidly. “Fuck…” he breathed.

“ _You see…we were not able to bring the Winter Soldier to heel. So I shall take the opportunity to make a counterpart to him, one that will be obedient where he was not. Of course, she will have to stay with us.._.”

Darcy gasped, her eyes wide and her body going rigid.

“ _Or, of course, her body will reject the serum altogether_ …” But Schmidt’s voice was deepening, lower and lower as whatever Darcy and Tony had given him started to take effect. “ _Most unfortunate. The chances of her survival and incorporation are about fifty percent, after all. You might have discontinued my mechanics, Mr. Stark…but you cannot undo my…will…_ ”

Tony snarled.

“ _If we cannot…break the Winter Soldier one way…we will…break him…in…another…_ ”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathed.

“Stay with us, Short Stack!”

There was a horrible noise, another raw, grinding digitized yell.

“ _You…won’t…be able…to stop…us_ ,” Schmidt was still talking, his voice slowing and deepening as he threatened them, his tone thinning to one of icy anger. “ _This…can’t…stop the tide, Stark…my work…will continue as it…always has...Hail HYDRA._ ”

“Why am I hearing ‘ _Daisy Bell’_ in my head right now?” Darcy ground out.

“ _Hail…HYDRA_.” The machine fell silent with a groan of protest and a sparking, the screen freezing on the digital snow of Schmidt’s wasted face.

“Fuck. You,” Tony snarled at the machine.

“ _Hail HYDRA_!” someone else yelled.

They all looked up.

Niccolo. He was struggling to get up, dazed and unsteady, his clothes soaked with the blood seeping from his shoulder.

Just like that, Bucky was gone. Replaced by the Winter Soldier, he pulled the SIG off Darcy’s thigh and leveled the gun, his face dark and grim as he pulled the trigger, not even looking. The report made everyone jump, but no one argued; they just stood there, shocked and awed, watching as Niccolo finally went down in a spray of blood.

Dead.

And just like that, he slid the gun back into the holster and returned his attentions to his agonized fiancé.

“Get her vest off,” someone else said, and Steve and Nat appeared as well, faces pinched. “Let’s see the damage,” Steve continued.

“Don’t bother,” Bucky said, stilling them. “We gotta get her back to HQ.”

“That punctured her stomach, and God knows what else,” Natasha offered, her face grim. “That gives us fifteen minutes, twenty if we’re lucky.”

For a split second they were all silent, the crashing realization floating down around them like late-night snow, glowing in the streetlights of Manhattan on a clear, frigid night.

The serum.

The blood.

One of their own. An easy mission.

Tony hovered, his face drawn. “I can’t fly her back—the suit’s down.” He pulled a hand down his face. “I don’t have the back-up. _Shit_. I took it out last night. I was gonna do some quick maintenance, but then everything else came up, and—”

Bucky wasn’t listening. He lifted her with ease. “Someone get the door,” he commanded, voice dark.

No one argued with him.

She couldn’t stop the anguished cry from escaping as she shifted involuntarily in his arms.

“Hold on, doll,” he said, a muscle in his carefully passive face ticking. “I gotcha.”

Her entire torso was on fire, burning and aching, and jumping; throbbing with her pulse, rapid and hard. “ _Oh, God_ …” she groaned, trying not to squirm in his grip.

“Just hold on…”

The doors were thrown wide and he made tracks for the truck she’d arrived in with Tony. “Who’s driving?”

Steve moved. So did Tony. They stopped, looked at each other. “You drive like a _madman_ , Stark,” Steve snapped.

“You drive like an _old_ man, Rogers—”

“ _Someone get behind the_ fucking _wheel_ ,” Bucky commanded again, in _that_ voice, and everyone froze, watching him slide Darcy carefully into the back seat and climb in behind her, yanking the door shut, hard.

Tony darted around the side and jumped in, gunning it back down the alleyway before he even had the SUV in Drive. “I should’ve remembered the back-up suit, I’m such a _fucking_ dumb-ass—”

“Just drive, Stark,” Bucky said, and the hard tone of his voice was gone, magicked away now that it was just the three of them. “We can all blame ourselves later.”

“Mm,” Darcy groaned softly, her eyes screwed up tight as she writhed around.

A hand was there, behind her neck, then, supporting her head. “Just breathe, Darce, just breathe.”

“I _can’t_ …everything _hurts_ ,” she whined, her voice high and thin, vulnerable.

She’d told herself in moments of clarity that she wouldn’t be this girl—the one that whined and weakened under threat of pain, the one that went gooey with an injury. But the pain, the pain was _blinding_. It was its own creature, had a mind of its own, galloping around in her torso until it had trampled tracks everywhere, raising fissures in her entire body. It was all she knew; there was nothing else.

“There’s a Medivac kit in the back,” Tony said as he took a turn hard and galloped along up the block. “Towels are in there.”

Bucky leaned over the seat, Darcy’s weak little hand clutching at his thigh as he dug around.

“Oh, God, _make it stop_ , Jamie…” she pleaded, half delirious, he could tell. He’d seen enough injury and bloodshed in the War, had seen enough stabbings and GSWs to know what was happening inside her body. She wouldn’t last long; she was small, and it wouldn’t take much for her to bleed out. And this was no ordinary injury. Not only that, but the trauma from the wound itself was shooting off numerous warning bells in her system, and it was dodging around, trying to heal it from within, when it didn’t have the resources needed at its own disposal. Blood loss. Infection. Shock.

He pulled out the kit and ripped it open, settling on his knees on the floor of the backseat. He rolled up one towel and slid it behind her neck to support her head and soak up any residual blood loss or oozing there as well. Then he unfolded another into a small square, using his left hand to apply pressure to the entry wound. He couldn’t do much for the exit right now. “Is that too hard? I can’t always tell with my left arm…”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, squirming against the pain, guttural gasps leaking from her as she tried to pull in air through her bloody throat, garbled in her mouth. “ _Mm_ …”

“Hold on to me, Darce. Can you hear me?”

“I’m coming up on 43rd,” Tony said. “We’ll be hitting the bridge. How’s she doing?” He was absolutely catapulting up the street, swerving in and out of cars. It was just lucky it wasn’t busy. They lurched.

“ _Oh, God_!” she cried out, clutching at his human hand.

“Not good,” Bucky answered. “Hold on to me, baby, okay? _Hold on_.”

A tear slipped out of her eye and slid down into her hair. “Oh, God,” she gasped. “Oh, God, _make it stop_ , Jamie.”

It was like a litany.

His mind skated across those old readings he’d had to sit through as a kid. His mother. She’d been a believer. Sarah. They’d accepted the Gospels as staunch truth, word for word.

He’d never been so sure.

Any faith he’d ever had had long since fled him.

And now…his mind cast about, unsure what to do, where to go…

“I _can’t_ ,” he rasped, his voice breaking, fear making his entire body cold.

“Keep talking to me, Barnes,” Tony said, his own voice thin and full of terror.

“ _What do you want me to say, Stark?!”_ he snapped. “ _She’s bleeding out_!”

“ _Stop yelling, please_ …” she interrupted with a cry. “Oh, my God…now I know what getting stabbed feels like,” she choked. “Oh, God…it feels like there’s ice in my veins, Jamie…”

He pulled his hand free of hers to dab the tear from her face as tenderly as he could manage. “Won’t be long, okay? It won’t be long, Bruce will get you all fixed up,” he tried to reassure her, even as his heart felt like it was shattering like glass.

Ice. He remembered the ice. The lightning flash of a pain so hot it felt like a surge of melting snow in his veins, his blood a whitewater rapid of shimmering ice.

And it seemed to last forever.

Whatever Schmidt had given her, it was similar to what ran through his own blood. Whether or not her body accepted it was up to fate.

He’d heard mutterings in Zola’s lab all those years ago, things he likely wasn’t supposed to hear—whispered in corners while the techs took notes—or things it was assumed he wouldn’t remember later. Subjects. Failures. Bodies upon bodies of disastrous results.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had been him so special, how he’d ended up being the taker. How he’d been so…lucky or _unlucky_ …eluded him. Steve had been different; a different serum, an entire machine to administer it, injections beforehand, two geniuses working on it at once.

But him. This.

It was a fifty-fifty shot.

She could be dead before their catapult uptown was over.

And she was sweating, and crying, and her face was pale as death, but she gave him a weak smirk as she looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Thought you weren’t a liar, Barnes…”

“So don’t make me one, Lewis. _Focus on me_.” He smoothed his hand over her forehead, soothing her hair out of her face where some had slipped loose of its knot. “Focus on me.”

She started shivering and shuddering, tears streaming from her eyes faster than he could keep up.

“Temp’s dropping,” he reported. “She’s going into shock.”

“You can’t get your deposit back on the ring, can you?” she bit out, her voice trembling to match.

“Shut up,” he commanded softly. “And no. Paid in full. Sucker was expensive. You gotta wear it. It ain’t going back.”

They went over a bump as they hit the bridge.

She cried out again, the hollow, painful report creating a fissure along the plains of his heart. “Jamie…” she whispered, her eyes slipping closed.

“Darcy…” he called. “ _Darcy_! _Stay with me_ , you gotta stay with me, baby!”

“Under ten minutes out,” Tony said. “Keep her conscious.”

“Darcy, doll, you gotta _stay with me_ , okay?” he begged, his voice going thinner still.

She looked at him weakly. “ _It hurts_ ,” she mewled.

He bit his lip and swallowed, struggling to keep calm for her, struggling with the idea that he’d have to lie to her now. “I _know_ , sweetheart. I know. Don’t think about it. Just hold onto me, okay, baby? _Hold onto me_.” He slipped his hand around hers.

Her grip was weak, but it was there. “S’pose it worked out. I’m not…the marrying kinda girl, anyway…” she murmured.

If he could just keep her talking… “I thought you were just waiting for the right fella to come along?” he teased her gently.

“Right fella, wrong dame. She’s too young for him. And she’s no wife.”

He laughed damply, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want one of those. Just want my best girl.”

“Five minutes out.”

“You’re gonna…have to find…another one,” she whispered.

He tightened his grip, swallowing hard. “Don’t want another one. One I found’s perfect. Took me _seventy years_ to track her down.”

Her face changed, her expression loosening, like she was giving in. “Jamie…” Her heart was pounding; he could feel it rushing under his fingertips where his hand was splayed across her torso. Her skin was flaming to his touch, even through the shirt and armor. Not a good sign.

Tears threatened at the back of his throat, but he pushed them down. “C’mon, Darce, _you’re stronger than this_. You hear me?”

She frowned, her body relaxing further, her skin lurching in one, giant spasm. Rejection. “Mm…”

“Darcy…” He pressed harder against the wounds, the towel no longer any containing any clue that they had once been white. “Darcy, baby, stay with me. You gotta stay with me… _you don’t understand_.”

“Buck…?” Tony questioned vaguely as he swung through another turn.

“You remember what I said? _I can’t be me without you, Darce_? I _can’t_. I’ve got too many pieces of me missing.”

“ _Buck_ …?”

“Whatever’s left of me _needs_ you, Darce,” he pleaded. “ _You don’t understand_ …”

The SUV went dark as they careened into the garage and Tony was out and pulling the door open before he could even move. “C’mon.”

He helped smooth her out and back into Bucky’s arms and he led the way into the elevator. “Don’t spare the rubber, J, we got an emergency. Bruce’s lab. _Now_.”

“ _Of course, Sir. Doctor Banner is in_. _I dispatched him when we were approximately five minutes from home, Sir._ ”

The elevator moved like a glacier, Bucky was sure of it. Finally, the doors opened and Bruce was there, waiting, his face pinched in worry. His face dropped open when he saw them. “Darcy?! _It’s Darcy_?!”

They shot past him down the hall and into the lab.

“ _What the hell happened to Darcy_?!”

“Impaled. Through-and-through. Middle abdomen, over the belly,” Bucky reported, already tugging at the Velcro for her vest. “And some sort of injection in the back of the neck, no idea what it was. Might’ve been the serum.”

He blinked, pausing to stare at him. “The _serum_? _The_ serum?!”

He nodded.

With a low curse, Bruce went to work, muttering to himself and murmuring. A lab coat came in, then another, probably called. He told them the situation and finally leveled Bucky with a stare. “Out.”

On the table, Darcy convulsed violently, her chest rising as though on a string, tugged hard, and as a tech began connecting her to the machinery, her heart rate lit up the lab, tachy and tripping, damn near flatline.

Bucky froze. “ _What_?”

Bruce’s face was stern, but his words were kind, even as he distractedly began his prep. “I _know_. But I _can’t_ have you in here. I _have_ to have you in the hall.”

Tony, who’d been folded small in the corner, approached, equally kicked out. “C’mon, kid. We’re just in the way, now. There’s nothing else you can do.”

Feeling the old, familiar numbness, he didn’t fight it, knew he’d either lose or hurt someone, and he sighed, took a long look at her, now intubated, and swallowed, following Tony out. The door was shut, locked, and the glass darkened by JARVIS, soundproofed.

The hall was silent.

They stood, looking at each other, mirrors of pale skin, manic eyes, and exhaustion, equally blood-spattered and weak. As though to show this off, Bucky found he couldn’t stand a moment longer, his knees failing, and he slid down the wall and into a chair.

“I’m, uh…I’m gonna go tell Pepper what happened, and then…uh…I’ll be back,” Tony said, sounding half dazed, and he wandered off, looking entirely lost.

Bucky was mired in a whirlpool of shock. He had no idea how long he sat there, going over and over the dialog they’d had in the car in his head, again, and again, and again.

He’d been losing her there, at the end.

She’d been fading under his touch, under the mad press of his hand.

He looked down at the cybernetic appendage. The surgical steel—or whatever it was, he still didn’t know—was splattered and painted with her blood, deep, dark crimson here, pink there.

He flinched, curling it into a fist and listening to the mechanics whine with the effort.

She’d asked if he would wear his own ring on his right hand. He’d vaguely wondered if Tony could rig something to engrave the metal. Something about wearing a band in the wrong place bothered him, and all at once, he’d been angry at Zola all over again.

If Bruce couldn’t work magic, it wouldn’t matter.

He felt adrift out in the empty hall, empty and hollow. He hadn’t been lying. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel, if he was supposed to be angry or empty or sobbing like a child. It was too much at once—

Maria came around the corner then, rushing, her hair in her face, her cheeks flushed like she’d run down the halls to get there. Her bruises were still evident on her throat and face, violent and angry and dark plum in color.

She stopped short when she saw him, though, and hesitated in the hall, and he enjoyed watching the color drain from her face as she swallowed.

He felt the dark glare on his face before he realized it had slid into place there, had spoken, snarling, before he realized he’d decided to. “ _I’ve never hit a dame_. _So you should probably leave._ ”

She backed quickly away again, eyes wide, and was gone.

He bit his lip, swallowing back the pain. He had to get a grip.

“Get a grip, Barnes,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and focusing. “Get a grip. She’s _strong_. That’s what attracted you in the first place. Get a _fucking_ grip.”

            But not enough if they were taking the serum into account. She wasn’t strong enough to endure that, the fire raging in her veins, her entire body under direct assault.

Steve appeared. He came slowly around the same corner, and stood, looking at him, for a long moment, his face that soft shape Bucky remembered from their youth, his brows tilted in concern and pain. He cocked his head just slightly.

Bucky shook his head, minutely, barely able to move. He was frozen there, locked in place, and he knew if he attempted anything more, he’d fall to pieces.

That fight beneath the freeway overpass had taught him a lot of things, but first and foremost, it had taught him where the edges of his control lay.

Darcy was teetering just at the edge of the cliff, hanging on by her fingernails.

She meant too much. She _was_ too much. She’d taken up such a place inside him that he was sure that without her, he’d be hollow.

Steve sighed and sat down in the chair next to him, still in half his gear, the torso of it undone and gathered around his waist to reveal the black tee he wore underneath. “Buck—”

“Don’t,” he rasped, his voice thin and on the knife-edge of breaking. “ _Don’t_.”

Steve’s mouth snapped shut. “Right.”

Bucky swallowed it back again, hard, his throat cramping. God, when had he become like this? When had she crept in under his skin and burrowed so deep that he’d lost track of his own self?

He wasn’t supposed to be this fragile.

_The Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to be weak_.

He wasn’t supposed to _feel_ at all.

They’d found it, though, his weak spot, his Achilles’ Heel. They’d found it and attacked, _hard_ , ripped up his roots and scattered the pieces of him around, left him raw and bleeding.

_Aching_. The pounding ache was eating away at him, making it impossible to breathe in and out.

Tony came back and threw himself down in the chair on Bucky’s other side. “Anything?”

“No.”

Steve tried again. “Tony—”

“Don’t, Steve.” Same response. “Just _don’t_.”

“Okay, so no one wants to talk,” Steve muttered.

“Maybe that’s why we didn’t get along so good at first—you don’t understand how an introvert works with the whole need to internalize everything—”

“Shut up, _both_ of you,” Bucky muttered. “Just _shut up_.”

For a long few moments, it was silent in the hall, not even the ticking of a clock or the thin hiss of a heating vent.

Something made Tony speak again, his voice pitched low and contemplative. “You said, ‘ _you don’t understand’_ , on the way over. And more than once. What did you mean?”

Maybe only because Tony was the next closest person to feeling identical to his current mood; maybe because he’d driven like a bat out of hell; maybe because he sounded so exhausted. But he answered, haltingly. “Whatever’s left of me is tied to her. The pieces I got back. I wouldn’t have gotten them back without her. She…tethers me to…me. Whatever’s left of me…if something happens to her…”

Steve took the opportunity. “That doesn’t mean you don’t—”

“I didn’t answer him for _reassurance_ , punk,” he snapped, his voice raw. “Sometimes, Rogers, you talk too much.”

But Steve surprised both of them, and shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Bucky leaned forward on his knees and rubbed at the back of his neck. “God _damn_ it. _Fucking_ HYDRA. I’ll never live it down, I’ll never be free.”

Neither of them spoke.

Hours went by. Or, at least, it felt that way.

Wanda came and went, set a hand on his shoulder and stood there for a while, knowing, of course, in her quiet way, that he’d favor silence.

Natasha came to retrieve Steve, insisting he eat.

Sam came by and quietly offered him a beer. He snorted, smiled forcefully, and declined.

Tony passed out, his head back against the wall.

God, how long had they been in there?! That couldn’t be good, right?! Couldn’t be good, that they’d been in there so long and they hadn’t heard a _thing_?!

Hands clenched into fists, he set his head back against the wall, and tried hard not to think.

Summer, she’d said.

A small summer wedding, at the inn they’d gone to for Tony and Pepper’s.

Just the team and no one else. Not even her parents. She hated— _hated_ —being the center of attention, had always hated huge, lavish weddings, didn’t want some spectacle. She just wanted to get it done, a small, intimate affair.

A house on the beach in the Hamptons, just the two of them for two weeks, doing nothing, lounging around on the sand.

He swallowed, opening his eyes.

The hall had dimmed, evening slowly switching on out the window at the end of the hall.

Tony was still passed out to his left, head tilted. He was snoring softly.

Pepper stuck her head around the corner, and for a moment Bucky wondered at how he’d been so mired as to miss the loud clacking of her Manolo Blahniks.

Her eyes found Tony, then moved on to him, her gaze softening when she saw how haggard be likely looked. Thankfully, smart woman, she didn’t speak. She came over, sat down on his right, and slid a hand over his fist, loosening it gently until he’d relaxed, and set her hand in his.

She smiled as he clutched at her tiny grip.

She crossed her legs and sat back in the chair, taking a deep breath.

And they sat there, like that, silent in the hall.

Something in her presence helped push down the tears that had been threatening their way up his throat for what felt like hours.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was in awe, awe that this woman, a woman he barely felt he knew, would seek them out and sit and just…wait.

So that was what Tony liked about her. She was soothing and warm, soft and perceptive in a way he’d never experienced before, other than with Darcy, like she always knew just what you needed, even if _you_ didn’t.

“I personally asked everyone to leave the two of you be,” she finally spoke, softly. “Neither of you need an audience right now, and even though everyone means well, they have a tendency to make these things worse.” She shrugged, a smirk toying at one corner of her mouth. “They gave Darcy a hard time while you were gone, so besides— _her_ turn.”

“I like the way your mind works, Potts,” he murmured.

She patted his thigh with her other hand and the silence resumed.

He had to work hard not to think about the files he’d read on her; her own struggles with another awful organization, the AIM serum that had nearly burned her apart. But she was here, now. Tony had fixed her.

The man’s genius only seemed rivaled by his father. Or Bruce.

Tony jerked awake a little while later, catching himself up against the wall and looking around manically. “Is she—what happened—anything—where’s Bruce?” he babbled, pulling a hand through his short hair and staring at him and Pepper, eyes on their joined hands.

“Nothing yet.”

He slumped in partial relief. “God, it’s been _hours_ , what the _fuck_?”

Just then the door opened and Bruce stepped out, looking haggard and pale, wiping his bloody hands on a towel. “Done,” he said.

They all froze.

Bucky could swear his heart _stopped_.

Bruce held out a hand. “She’s _alright_.” He didn’t say anything else for a moment, as though waiting for them to get a grip. “In a manner of speaking.”

Tony lunged for Pepper and the two of them embraced, tightly, in the hall, and Tony was mumbling wetly against Pepper’s neck as he staggered. “ _God_ , Pep, you don’t _understand_ , I…”

Bucky slumped weakly over, elbows on his knees, his face in his hands, feeling air rush back into his chest.

Someone pressed a hand to his back.

Nothing came.

No feeling.

Just numb relief.

He shook with it.

“Everyone listening?” Bruce asked awkwardly.

“Yeah, go ahead, doc,” Tony murmured, voice muffled, like he was still tucked against his wife.

“Bucky?”

He waved a hand at him, but didn’t trust his voice.

“Okay. It was, uh…it was pretty touch and go, there, for a while. She was pretty bad off when you brought her in. Seriously, I’ll be honest, for a little while, I…I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to pull it off.” He paused, his voice fading. “But, um…and I don’t know how to say this…she healed.”

Bucky felt his shoulders stiffen, and the hand on his back pressed harder between his shoulder blades. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…” he murmured, his throat closing at the confirmation. “God…Please no.”

“What are you saying, Bruce?” Pepper asked, calmed and collected. God, the woman was a pillar.

Bruce shuffled awkwardly. “I’m saying...she healed herself."


	9. Turning in the Inside Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some walls are torn down, some are demolished altogether, and one is already in the process of being built.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys! I'm back! Sorry for the slight delay. Things have been busy. Anyhoo, I'm thinking that, judging by the response I got last chapter, people are liking the direction I'm going in here? Full steam ahead! Let me know?? This one is a little bit interim while everyone figures out what's up with Darcy.

The doctor cleared his throat. “I’m not…I’m not sure how, yet. But I’m running some tests. I drew a fair amount of blood…”

“Wait. _What_?!” Tony said, sounding much more firm now, as thought he’d snapped back into himself—hard.

“I’m not…really…sure…” Bruce floundered.

“It’s _okay_ , Tony…” Pepper soothed, and Bucky realized it was her hand on his back as it soothed up and then back down. “We’ll figure it out. Are you alright, James?”

He shrugged, not otherwise moving. The horror…he couldn’t even swallow it all down.

“If everyone’s alright…you can go in and see her. Just be quiet, we’ve got her resting.”

Pepper’s shoes gave away her movement into the room.

“Buck?” came Tony’s voice, then.

Finally, he trusted himself to look up. Tony was standing there, a hand offered in the space between them. He spent a long moment looking at it.“You okay, kid?” His voice was thin and his eyes were damp and red, puffy.

Bucky didn’t answer, but stood, taking the offering unsteadily. He was pushed ahead into the room and wandered dazedly to the chair nearest her, finally sitting down hard, his knees like jelly. Tony sat down next to him.

Bruce followed them, moving to the tray of leftover supplies, clearing it off and wiping it down. He held something out. “Needed this out of the way. Think you might want it back,” he said, kindly, as he held it out.

Bucky stared at it until her ring finally came into focus, and he blinked, nodded, and took it, tucking it—and the chain it was on—into a pocket. “Thank you,” he said, his voice barely audible.

But Bruce shook his head. “Don’t thank _me_. I’m just doing my job here. You two got her here in time. That’s all on you.”

Pepper kissed Tony’s forehead and disappeared somewhere, her heels clacking down the hall until they’d faded, probably off to deliver the tentative news.

“Like I said, I’m not entirely sure what happened. I mean…I have to be honest. I almost lost her— _twice_. But then…then, I don’t know, the bleeding slowed, and then it _disappeared_ , it _reabsorbed_ _as I watched_. It was like a switch was flipped, and all I could do was stand there and gape. So…we bandaged her up and she started breathing on her own. Here we are. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think we’re out of the woods, but…”

Bucky and Tony stared at each other, mirrors of wide eyes and pale skin.

“I’ll just…be in the office next door,” Bruce said. “Gonna…start those tests.” And he disappeared through an attached room, leaving them alone.

For a long few moments they were silent.

Darcy looked smaller than usual, all bundled in the bed, tucked in amongst the white blankets and tubes. One in her arm, one under her nose, the pulse monitor back on her left middle finger.

Bucky didn’t dare touch her for fear of messing something up. He looked up at the metal hangings around them. One held a bag of blood, a giant A+ marking her blood type, the thick, viscous liquid leaving a residue where it had drained into her through the deep, crimson tube, the needle stuck in her neck, one he’d missed. He touched it to find it warm. The other bag—saline, Bruce had said—was clear as water, running down into her elbow.

The machine in the back beeped steadily, and for a long moment, he watched her heart rate jumping neatly below the read out of her pulse.

The need to touch her was _painful_.

“So…she’s…enhanced…?”

Bucky shrugged. “No way to know for sure yet.” He slumped against the bed, pressing his hands over his face as he took a deep breath. “ _Fuuuck_.”

Tony didn’t need to ask why the idea made him upset; he never really seemed to need to ask him anything. Instead, he moved on, saving speculation for later. “You know, it’s funny,” Tony suddenly spoke, staring at her in much the same way.

Bucky jumped.

“It’s true, you’re right. You revert back a little, when you’re upset, you go silent. Like _him_. Like the Winter Soldier. Probably easier to shut off the emotion, hm?”

He swallowed hard and sat back in the chair.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of him, kid. He’s _you_. He might be a dark, strange part of you, but you can’t deny him. You don’t have the strength. He might’a been forced to do awful things, but he’s part of you now, and the act of suppressing him is a disservice to yourself. You should accept it. It’s not going away. Don’t disrespect yourself and deny what you endured. You were strong enough to pull yourself out. You should be proud of that.”

He was silent, staring at her. It was strange, seeing her—his Darcy, so loud and full of life—lying quiet and still. She looked so small and fragile. Sometimes, with that loud personality, he forgot how _tiny_ she was.

“You were strong enough. You _are_ strong enough. _Ain’t nothing wrong with you_.”

He swallowed.

“ _You hear me_?”

He nodded.

“You did a good job, back there. You acted quickly, you got her in the truck, applied pressure. You, uh…you were good at the hardest part.”

“What part is that?” he rasped, looking down at his hands, still bloody. _Her_ blood.

“You told her it was gonna be okay when you weren’t sure it was the truth. Some people can handle that, some can’t. But you lied straight to her face, you gave her strength when she ran outta juice. You stuck with her.”

“What was the other option?”

Tony shrugged. “You could’a put her in the truck and ditched us right there.”

He snorted. “And why would I have done that?”

Another shrug. “Lots of people probably would.” He looked at her, his eyes holding on her face. “This changes things, you know? Lots of guys probably wouldn’t bother. I mean, look at her. She’s got battle scars, now, kid…”

“If this is a test, Stark, you can _shut the fuck up_ ,” he snapped, his voice rising in volume and surprising even himself.

Tony blinked, then nodded. “Caught me—red-handed. You little shit, you see right _through_ me.” An impish smirk curled one corner of his mouth.

“Besides—what about _you_? You could’ve ditched, too.”

Tony shrugged again, studying the girl in the bed. “Yeah, I dunno…” His expression as he stared down at her said it all.

“She doesn’t talk about her father much. Think she pretty fairly hates the guy— _both_ of her parents, actually,” Bucky said, his voice low again. “There’s a vacancy, you looking for a position.”

Tony chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Good to know.” He stood. “You should go eat, have a little nap. She’ll be out for a while. Might do you good to sleep it off a little.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. I’m good. You go.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “Thought you’d say that.” And he was gone, shuffling slowly out the door.

For a long, long time, he sat staring at her, her dark hair a violent slash on the bleach white pillows. He puzzled out which tube connected to what, studied the monitor of her system, stared at her steady heart for reassurance.

Bruce came in after a while, when something beeped, and Bucky realized the bag of blood was empty, the sides suctioned together as the tube pulled it dry. He pulled the needle very carefully out of the jugular vein in her throat and coiled it up, setting it aside to take care of later. Then he gently bandaged the hole, shaking his head bemusedly for reasons unknown. Bucky was too tired to ask.

He looked at the readout on the monitor and nodded, offering him a smile of encouragement. “Looking good. She’s strong, our wrangler.”

“Mm,” was all he could manage.

His eyes were gentle and soft. “Go on, Buck. She’ll be alright—I’ve got her. Go sleep. Come on back when you’re awake, you look like you’re about to keel over.”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.”

He frowned, but nodded. “Yeah, you and Steve—your system’s are rigged. Blessing in disguise sometimes, hm?”

He nodded.

“You don’t want to take your eyes off her, right?”

He nodded again, swallowing. “Sometimes I forget how fragile she is.”

Bruce shrugged in agreement. “Well, Tony is sure going to figure out how her armor was pierced, that’s for sure. Shouldn’t have been possible.”

“ _I_ shouldn’t have been possible, according to science,” Bucky said, and he could hear the tired drag in his own voice. “Here I am. Not a day over _twenty-nine_.”

Bruce smiled and laughed softly. “That’s true.”

“I’m never gonna live it down. They’ll always _be_ _there_ , hovering over my shoulder.” He gestured at her in the bed. “A constant reminder.” He stared dazedly down at her chest as it gently rose and fell.

Bruce sat down in the chair opposite. “We’re all like that here, to a certain extent. I mean, Tony, and Clint, and Natasha.” He shrugged. “You think _I’m_ ever gonna fully let go of all the people I’ve hurt—as _the other guy_? Hurt or _killed_? Because I was too impatient and rushed a trial on myself on a vain attempt at recreating Erskine’s formula.” He gave him a grim smile. “I’ve learned to pick my battles. _Systematically_. If you try and fight them all at once…you’re not gonna hold up, no matter how strong you _think_ you are. The demons will wear you down.” He looked up at him, straight in the eye. “ _Trust_ me.”

Bucky nodded.

Bruce stood. “Anyway. I’m gonna go finish my paperwork on this. In an hour or so, if she’s still stable, we’ll get these tubes out. She’ll be good as new, if my suspicions are correct.” He studied Bucky’s face, but again, he got the feeling he purposely left something for later. “You can touch her, Buck. She won’t disappear.” He smiled, and left.

After a little while, the overhead came on and Tony spoke. “How’s our girl?” he asked, his voice low.

“Same,” he said.

“Man of few words, Mr. Barnes. Can I get you anything?”

He snorted in sarcasm. “A Double Shot Espresso from Starbucks.”

Tony laughed, and was gone.

He leaned forward and set his weight on the bed, careful to avoid upsetting her quiet resting. Guilt flooded him again, but he shoved it roughly down. He wasn’t a fool; he knew she’d been trying her damnedest to train him not to think that way. Right now, though—it was the first place his mind went.

Her brows drew together just slightly, the way they did when she was dreaming. Being like Steve, being unable to sleep like the average person, he spent a lot of time trying not to disturb her, hanging on one side of the bedroom, curled up, reading in a chair by the dim streetlights outside in the dead of night. He’d caught up on a lot of his studies of the past decades that way, the things he’d missed. He understood more than Steve had brought himself to, and in less time. He was naturally curious, had always been precocious. He couldn’t always keep up with Darcy yet, but felt like he was well on his way.

He’d spent a lot of time, the past two months with her living there, learning her patterns and her rhythms. She _fascinated_ him, the way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she laughed and teased. She’d smile just a certain way, she’d narrow her eyes at Thor as something went over his head. Her throat would work and her toes would curl as she sipped at a glass of wine. She’d come in loose and alive, her eyes bright and dancing after a night in with her friends, and she’d pounce on him, eager and sweet, and she’d move just that certain way, tugging at his hair, canting her hips, offering her throat, begging for him to bite down, to let go. And he’d taste the vodka on her tongue, or the sugared rum. And she’d give that breathless giggle in his ear.

He treasured the little pieces of her, the tiny slivers she’d given him that he’d felt free to mull and turn over, studying them in the bright sunlight, watching her facets refract brightly and reflect all her shining colors.

She’d been a curious and intriguing thing that day in the lab, and he’d been strangely bemused despite himself and the grim mood he’d found himself in.

But that day at Tony’s wedding; she’d become a creature to study, a butterfly, trapped in amber, pinned, and he’d felt like if he could remove the pin, he could watch her move and twist. If he could remove the pin, maybe she’d be his.

He felt like he’d just begun to learn her. Just begun to understand her, and all her complicated pieces, gorgeous and blinding, like a kaleidoscope, ever changing.

But that was his favorite—watching over her at night—when he couldn’t sleep and he’d slip carefully away and over to the small, cushy armchair. He’d open his book and continue from wherever he’d left off with Scout’s adventures, or Harry’s quest, or Sherlock’s case, his enhanced vision needing no further assistance than the giant sign on the skyscraper next door.

And she’d shift and sigh softly, her brows drawing together. Her arm would stretch and one small hand would reach across the bed as though searching him out. She’d let out a sleepy mewl and sink back into slumber.

And he’d fall in love with her all over again.

He hadn’t thought he could do that.

As he watched, though, she shifted slightly, that pinch in her brow increasing. He stood and made his way to the door, leaning around it to find Bruce, blinking tiredly as he typed at his laptop. “Dr. Banner?”

Bruce jumped. “Something wrong?” He was already standing.

“Uh, no. But she’s stirring. Thought you might want to get those tubes out before she wakes up, just in case.”

He nodded as he crossed the room. “Yeah. Good catch, Buck. Good catch.”

He watched quietly as the doctor carefully removed the needles that he’d inserted, and she gave a little mewl and convulsed as he slid them slowly out of her. “Perfectly normal, Buck, perfectly normal.” Then he disconnected the tube from under her nose. “None of this was strictly necessary anymore, but I wanted it all just in case. She, uh…she stopped breathing at one point. She took it up on her own again, like I said, but I didn’t want to chance anything.” He set it all aside and wheeled the cart out, leaving just her elbow hooked up to the saline flush IV. “Come get me if there’s any other change, okay? Oh—and call me Bruce, okay?” And he was gone again.

No sooner had he left than Tony popped his head in, looking refreshed in a change of clothes. He held two steaming cups, _huge_ ones, full ones from Starbucks.

Bucky started, staring at him. “I was _joking_.”

Tony shrugged, an impish smirk on his face. “I know.” He held one out. “But then I wanted one, so off I went.” He looked at his watch. “Man, it’s late, kid. After two am. You should go sleep. I should kick you out right now, even though you could kick my ass clear down the hall, you put your mind to it.” He sat down in the chair opposite.

Bucky took the cup and sipped, half of it gone in minutes. He wondered if it would even help or if his metabolism would flush it as soon as it hit his stomach. He’d never felt this tired in his life. He was sure it was simple emotional distress. He couldn’t bring himself to care. “She’ll be pissed, she realizes you snuck off to Starbucks without her.”

“I know. That’s why I got her a Cinnamon Dolce Latte. It’s in your fridge.”

Bucky snorted, shaking his head, and he sat back in the chair. “Of course it is.”

“At least put your head back, kid. You’ve been going almost twenty-four hours, and that’s not even on the little cat naps you and Cap take.”

So he did, sighing in relent.

He was out in seconds.

 

Pepper was gushing over her as she smoothed her hair in its high, high ponytail, perfect and precise. “Oh, God, you look _perfect_!”

Jane stood next to her. “You _really_ do. Perfect.”

She felt the flush heat her cheeks. “Guys, _stop_. It’s no big deal.”

“ _No big deal_?!” Nat said as she came in, looking decidedly different from her usual, black-clad self. “Even _I_ know that’s crap.”

Wanda followed her, snorting. “Oh, _please_ , Natasha. Courthouse, wasn’t it? So the rest of us wouldn’t be able to do what we’re doing right now?”

“Coward,” Maria chided as she slipped an earring into Darcy’s ear and moved to the other one.

“You call me a coward, I call the whole thing _strategy_ ,” Nat shot back.

“Oh, my God, turn around, Darcy! You look so _perfect_!” Pepper continued to croon as she pulled Darcy around.

With a sigh, she took stock of herself in the mirror. Lace collar—check. Lace sleeves—check. Tight bodice, strapless, short mermaid cut—check. Laced back—check.

“And a little something extra to complete the look!” Pepper cooed, gesturing—

At the huge bright red wound over her middle, a gaping hole in her torso that hadn’t been there a moment ago, the blood blossoming into a flowery stain on the soft pearl white of the wedding dress.

She gasped in horror, staring at her own reflection.

Maria appeared over her shoulder. “ _Perfect_ , right?!”

She jerked—and jerked again, frowning, blinking in a vain attempt at clearing the black spider webbing obscuring her vision.

“You’re alright, Short Stack,” a soft voice reassured her, and a large hand folded around one of hers, giving her an anchor in the physical reality.

She groaned, then gagged, regretting it, her throat rebelling, dry and rough, sore and burning. She coughed, and regretted that too, as her torso burst into a stinging pain that she couldn’t remember— _oh_.

Right.

Yeah.

So… _that_ had happened.

“Here,” the voice said, and a straw slid past her dry lips and into her mouth. “Easy does it, just sip.”

She pulled in a drink and the water felt unspeakably wonderful as it flooded her dry mouth and cascaded beautifully down her throat.

“That’s gonna have to be enough…” The straw disappeared.

She frowned, and finally succeeded in pulling her eyes open, wincing in anticipation of the bright light of Bruce’s medical lab.

But it didn’t come.

The lights were low, the hall dark.

Tony sat on her right, watching her with soft, sad eyes as he set the plastic cup of water back down on the desk beside him. “How you doing, there, Lewis?” His eyes twinkled.

“Awful,” she whispered, then coughed fitfully again against her dry throat.

“Whoa, whoa, easy does it, easy does it. Don’t talk, okay?” He patted her thigh and stood. “Bruce?” he called softly.

“Where’s Jamie?” she rasped out anyway, wincing in pain.

With a rueful smirk, Tony cocked his head, gesturing.

She managed to tug her head to the left and found him on her other side, one leg up on the chair, arms crossed, head back against the wall, sound asleep.

“He wouldn’t leave. I finally got him to relax about an hour ago. They say you see something new every day, but seeing him _scared_ wasn’t really something I ever expected,” he said, shrugging, as Bruce came through the door.

“She awake?”

“Yeah, but we’ve got another _sleeping beauty_ over there.”

Bruce smiled. “ _Finally_. He looked half dead.” He approached the bed. “Hey, Darce. How you feeling, other than the obvious?”

She groaned.

He laughed.

“ _Sshhh_ …” Tony shushed him with a frown.

Darcy smirked. “Don’t worry—he sleeps like the _dead_.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Bucky jerked awake, eyes manic as he shot upright in the chair. He stared at her, his face unreadable in the dim light.

“You were saying?” Tony questioned from the foot of her bed, smirking.

“Your file didn’t mention any allergies, Darce…?”

She shook her head, frowning in pain.

“Alright, then I’m gonna start you out slow with some Darvocet, okay? Let me know if that doesn’t work, we’ll talk about Vicodin.” He started rummaging around in a drawer, and pulled out a small vial. “Slow drip, I’ll add it to your bag, okay?”

“Mm…” she groaned, shifting around as gently as she could manage and watching him with a frown as he pushed the plunger on the syringe down until it was empty. He straightened the bag, and left again, patting her blanketed foot as he went.

Tony stood there, looking at her, his eyes going red. “Really glad you’re okay, Short Stack,” he said, and his voice was thin. “Scared us all pretty good. Not as much as _that one_ , over there…”

Bucky flinched.

She sighed as she finally extricated her arms and settled her left on the plastic guard of the bed. “Sorry. Won’t happen again, Boss Man.”

Tony smiled. “See that it doesn’t, Lewis. I’ll be outside.” He backed out of the room.

She looked at him.

He looked back at her.

“If you’re gonna say you’re sorry, save it or I will _smack_ you, IV or no IV,” she finally rasped.

He swallowed, looking down as he nodded.

She wriggled her hand. “Usually you’re super perceptive, soldier boy. This means I wanna hold your hand.”

He complied, braiding their fingers together.

She scowled at the blood still on his hands. “Wow, you _didn’t_ leave, did you?”

He shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

She smirked tiredly. “You don’t need to whisper anymore.” She gave him a weak, conspiratorial look. “Everyone’s awake.”

His throat worked as he drank in the sight of her. “Don’t trust my voice,” he rasped too. Then he cleared his throat. “ _Darcy_ …” His voice shook and wavered, and he looked away again, biting his lip.

She squeezed weakly at his hand. “Jamie…I’m okay.”

“You know how close you came to _not_ being okay?” he shot back.

“You’re _angry_ at me?”

He gave a humorless snort. “ _Angry_? Angry—this is what I look like when I’m _terrified_. This is it.” His voice was thick and heavy in his throat.

She stared, marveling at his raw emotion. This was new. He was usually buttoned up tight—at least, around everyone but her. But _this_ …this was new to _her_ too. She’d never seen such a vulnerable display from him before. Even his panic attacks hadn’t elicited a response like this, gaping and raw. “See, you didn’t think the Winter Soldier could be scared, did you?” she said.

He wouldn’t look at her, but she could feel his hand trembling.

“You thought they’d ripped all of your emotions out of you by the roots, that what you were feeling was false, a mental construct.”

Nothing.

She wondered if Tony was listening. Somehow, she thought he was. She didn’t really mind. “When really, I knew they hadn’t done anything like that. They smothered it. They buried it so deep, that you’ve had to dig your way out, finding new ones as you went, finding yourself surprised that they were still where you’d left them. Doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human— _Bucky_.”

He finally turned to look at her, tears tracking silently down his face.

“The Winter Soldier, he’s not a monster. He’s not a machine. He’s _human_.”

He swallowed and nodded.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Not your fault.”

“Did you kill Niccolo?” It was all a hazy blur.

“Yeah.” Pretty viciously, too, dispatched him like _he_ would’ve done.

She sighed. “Good.”

He leaned over the bed, staring down at her in awe.

She reached up with her other hand to wipe at his face, then brush his hair back behind an ear.

“The Darvocet working?”

She nodded.

“How’s the pain?” He hovered uncertainly.

“ _Awful_ ,” she groaned, slumping back in the bed. “Like someone scooped out my insides and left me hollow.”

He winced, but didn’t bring it up. Too soon. He sighed. “God, you don’t know how _awful_ it is, not being able to wrap my arms around you right now.”

She groaned again. “I think I’ve got an idea. Tony?” she called weakly, then gave a sleepy, hazy blink. “Ooh, that pain killer’s working its magic. Tony?”

He popped his head in, his eyes dancing first over Bucky with some concern, then settling on Darcy. “Yeah, Short Stack?”

“Schmidt, is he—”

“Dead,” he said with a nod. “You know… _again_. You better get your ass outta that bed, ‘cause you and me, we’re gonna have a good, long, project, data mining all that crap. Got it all planned out. Picnics, field trips, the whole shebang. Get crackin’.” He winked, and ducked back out again.

She laughed, then groaned again.

“Just lie still, sweetheart,” Bucky soothed, straightening her blankets.

She obeyed, weak and getting dopy from the drug. “What happened? I don’t remember all of it. There was a…pike thingy, and it got me through the…” She drifted off, her mind whirring. “Oh, _God_ , it got me through my _armor_ , Tony’s probably _pissed_.”

Bucky nodded. “Mm. Not only that, but I, um…” He paused, his eyes drifting away again. “I’ll…I’ll let Bruce tell you that…later…” His voice softened.

She surprised him, though, in being too drugged to notice, and sighed, letting her head loll back. “Oh, _God_ …I’m starting to short out, here, I think.” She squeezed his hand weakly.

He squeezed back. “Just rest,” he murmured tenderly, his heart cracking down the middle at what was obviously her body in transition. He’d been there. He knew the signs. Steve, to some degree, had been lucky. He hadn’t known what a normal, average body felt like beforehand, he hadn’t had any comparison. He’d climbed into that machine. He’d endured, perhaps, a moment’s worth of pain and discomfort. And he’d come out completely changed.

He hadn’t been so lucky, no matter the fact that they’d arrived at essentially the same conclusion.

She shook her head, struggling for consciousness. “You gotta promise me something, first, _Bucko_.”

It was a struggle to speak, but he managed, and Darcy was too gone to notice. “What?”

“That as soon as I’m light’s out, you’ll go upstairs and take a shower, and sleep _in the bed._ You need to rest, too, Bruce and Tony said you looked like death.”

He frowned. “Darcy, I’m—”

“Don’t tell me you’re _fine_ when we both know it’s a lie. I’ve _never_ seen you do _that_ before.” She shrugged weakly. “Least you’re not an ugly crier. That was actually pretty sweet.”

“What?”

“Just go upstairs and _sleep_. You can’t do that in that stupid plastic chair, dude. _Go upstairs._ ”

“ _Darcy_ —”

“Don’t give me your warning tone, either, _soldier boy_. I’m gonna pass out, you sitting there will be pointless. Just go. _Please_. I will feel _awful_ if you don’t.”

He sighed. “Alright.”

But she was stern. “Say it,” she commanded.

“I promise. There. _Happy_?”

She smiled wanly. “Yes. Very.”

He stood, still holding her hand. “I’m going.”

“Wait, c’mere.”

He leaned over her. “What?”

“Nothing.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love my fella. Now, _go_. I’m passing out.”

Smirking despite himself, he went, hovering in the doorway until he was sure she was really out, and the heart rate monitor had slowed to a sleeping rhythm.

Tony smirked as they both got in the elevator. “She kick you out?”

“ _Oh_ , yeah.”

“Good. Go sleep, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

He couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned for a whole twenty minutes before he finally gave up and got dressed again in workout gear, pulling his hair back in a band. He went down to the gyms, glad for the _stupid_ hour—everyone would be giving him a wide berth, let alone _sleeping_ —and he didn’t see a soul. His veins were itching. His whole body was itching, and he knew what it was.

HYDRA.

_Again_.

He’d foolishly thought he’d escaped.

But no.

_Again_ , it had almost meant his life.

And now.

_Darcy_ …

Now Darcy was compromised.

All because he couldn’t keep himself in check, couldn’t keep himself from getting tangled up, out of trouble, apart and focused—couldn’t keep it in his damn pants.

Snarling in frustration, he hung a punching bag and started wailing on it, _hard_ , harder than he knew even Steve did, hard enough to actually hurt his hands. Well. The flesh one, anyway. The false one merely vibrated— _hard_ —up, into his shoulder, making his scapula sing.

But the pain felt good.

After so long spent expecting it, waiting for it, working with it, now it was a comfort. A balm. A method, a medium through which he gained—and kept—his focus.

Darcy.

_His_ Darcy.

Changed.

He punched harder.

Because of _him_. Because she’d been unlucky enough to sit down and start talking to him because she was a sucker for blue eyes.

He punched harder.

What would she be when she woke up?

Oh, _God_ , she wouldn’t want this; she would _never_ want all the awful things that went along with it. She’d recoil in disgust.

He punched harder.

And it would be all his fault.

His presence in her life had damned her to this terrible fate.

He punched harder, and harder still, until he used enough force to feel the middle finger in his good hand crack and snap.

Wincing, he darted back, shaking out his hand and cursing under his breath as pain radiated up his hand and struck a chord in his wrist. “ _Fucking_ hell…”

“Was wondering if you guys were capable of doing that,” a voice said, quiet and low, from the corner.

He spun around, left arm clenched for a fight—

But it was just Barton, folded in on himself in the dim dark of the corner of the sparring mats, as though he’d been there the entire time.

Maybe he had been.

“You’re not going soft, don’t worry,” the archer said, a wry glint in his eye catching the light coming in from the small, thin windows near the ceiling. It was sunrise, then. “You’re just distracted.” He shrugged. “Nothing wrong with a little distraction—long as you do it in the right place, a safe space.”

Bucky had very little opinion of Clint, or _Hawkeye_ as everyone seemed to know him so well. Bucky was willing to try him on marksmanship sometime, if they ever got to that point. His small opinion wasn’t for lack of respect or likability—it was due to the simple fact that they hadn’t had much spare time for fraternization since his arrival. And the archer had given him a wide berth.

He shrugged. “A gym, perhaps—or a farm, as the case may be.”

Bucky tried not to roll his eyes. When he was angry, he found it more difficult to separate himself from the tool they’d made him. He didn’t like other people around when his alter ego was swimming so near the surface. It wasn’t only fear of hurting someone—or _worse_ —but the simple fact that The Winter Soldier wasn’t terribly social, and his emotional and social barriers were Trojan walls of defense. Of course, his list of defense mechanisms was probably ten times as long as Stark’s, and Tony rocked a _really big list_.

“Come down here a lot after missions, particularly if they don’t go as well as I’d hoped,” the man continued, casually, like they’d had these sorts of conversations so often. “Laura says I brood, but—hey. I thought that sorta thing was considered _sexy_ nowadays?”

And he found himself answering. “Depends on which dame you ask.”

Clint chuckled and nodded his approval. “ _’Dame’_. I like that. No one talks like that anymore. We got all these stupid catchphrases and garbage, nonsense words. ‘ _Dame’_. ‘ _Doll’_. _Yeah_. That’s the classy stuff.”

He turned to survey the damage he’d done to the punching bag, feeling his finger tingle and twinge, and he knew it was already at work knitting itself back up. “Yeah, well, ‘blockhead’s’ not quite so poetic.” There was a tear in the seam. Sand would pour out at the slightest nudge. He moved his gaze up to find the links of the chain had given as well and the very last one was hanging by a shallow hook. He sighed and reached up to pull it down, spilling sand in the process. He tossed it impatiently aside, using a bit too much force with his bionic arm, and the bag bounced off the wall and rolled halfway back across the room. He rolled his eyes.

“Rogers said he talked to Stark—she’s healing.” He nodded again. “That’s great. I like the kid. She’s got spunk—sorry, ‘ _moxy’_. That was the word, right?” He smirked, finally leaning forward to set his elbows on his knees. “You don’t seem real thrilled about that.”

He crossed to the punching bag and picked it up, hauling it over his shoulder and crossing back to toss it on Steve’s pile for repair.

In silence.

“When I first came here, Fury insisted I do this crap. Come down here and work out my frustrations in a _healthy_ way. See, I came from a _shit_ upbringing, terrible family, all the usual garbage. And I told him he was a _fucking_ idiot.”

Bucky snorted, tossing aside the bag and dragging up a new one.

“Thought he was half nuts. Still do. And I still don’t come down here to work out my frustrations. I just like the space.” He shrugged. “You do, though. And Rogers. All that extra super soldier energy must drain you, eh?”

Surprised, Bucky turned, and surveyed him with narrowed eyes.

Clint smirked. “Yeah. Everyone thinks it sounds so awesome, the idea of being this Superman character in the flesh. But, I dunno.” Another inelegant shrug. “Sounds to me like it might be a pain in the ass. I mean, the two of you _barely_ sleep. You seem like your senses are so sensitive, you could _literally hear a pin drop_. You’ve got all this extra energy, _crazy_ metabolism, you’ve gotta watch how you use the strength, keep yourself in check _all the time_ …It sounds _exhausting_.”

He raised a brow.

But the archer was unfazed. “And now something like that might be happening to _Darcy_?” He shook his head. “That’s crazy, man. And I get it—you don’t want that kind of life for her. I wouldn’t want it for Laura.” He snorted. “God. When we got married…I spent so long worrying about her.”

He hung the new bag.

“Seriously. It drove her _nuts_. More than one argument about it, a few good fights.” He shook his head ruefully, smirking at himself. “When she told me she was pregnant with Cooper, I lost it. I mean, _hard_. We had the most God-awful, two am knock-down, drag-out _shakedown_ —they could probably hear us at the next farmhouse over.”

He stood there, staring at the punching bag but not really seeing it, counting the seams without really meaning to, his brain quantifying everything down to the letter, like his training had dictated.

“She walked out. Like, I mean, she ran off in the middle of the night, went _peeling_ off in the pickup truck, _crying_.” He sprawled out on the mat and propped himself with his arms behind. “I spent the night pacing, _furious_ , paranoid, angry and frustrated as hell. I mean, I was a fucking _secret agent_! Like from a movie! I couldn’t have a family! I couldn’t have loose ends, I couldn’t have weak spots, avenues for pain, for blackmail. I couldn’t allow someone I cared about to end up at the bottom of some well just because they were unlucky enough to care for me, too.” Another shrug. “I mean, my past ain’t what _yours_ is, but it sure as hell ain’t pretty.”

He crossed his arms over his chest in what Rosen would call a defensive position.

“I was about to go out after her and try to find her in the old, beat-up station wagon her father left us when she called. She’d chased off to the old diner out Route 9 and drowned her sorrows in a bowl of chili and called me on the payphone.” He was determinedly studying his fingernails. “Said she’d made her decision the day she married me and that I had to make mine. I said I already had.” He chuckled. “But she insisted I _hadn’t_ , that I’d been sitting on the fence for the past two years, and now, with a baby coming, I had to decide if I was _in_ or _out_ —because she was brave enough to be in. Said she loved me too much to be a chicken shit because of outlying circumstances, but if I wasn’t in it for the long haul, she would be gone the next day. Said she had to protect herself, especially now.”

He sighed, caught himself hunching his shoulders again, and straightened his spine.

“She was all set to flip the bad guys the bird because she had faith in me, even though I didn’t have faith in _myself_.” He abruptly stood up. “But you don’t want a lecture, I’m sure, and this isn’t supposed to be one. Man, I can’t even _deal_ with the thought of what happened to you. And I also can’t deal with the fact that you’re still a _functioning person_. Guess I’m just saying that Fury would’ve been pissed at me if I had gotten out or if I had let Laura get away just because I ran around and combated _evil overlords_ for my day job.” He snorted. “And I guess…feeling sorry for yourself or for Darcy, after all this time…just, to me, sounds like letting them win, you know?” He shrugged again. “I dunno.” He reached up to rub at his eyes. “I’m finally crashing, man. I’m glad the kid’s okay. I’m gonna go call Laura and pass out. I’ll see you later.” He moved toward the door, but paused in the doorway, turning back. “And by the way—one of these days, we’re putting that famous marksmanship of yours to the test. You got me?”

And with a daring wink, he was gone.

 

 

“It’s _incredible_ …” Bruce murmured as he studied the slide on his microscope.

Tony took another sip of coffee. “What?”

Bruce shook his head, frowning at the apparatus. “It’s like…her blood is constantly _replenishing_ itself. I probably didn’t even need to give her that pint…”

Tony frowned. “In _English_ , please, Banner. I might be, like, _genius_ , but I’m still not really sure what that implies.”

The doctor leaned back, rubbing his hand tiredly across his forehead. “I’ve never seen anything like it, I mean, not even _Steve’s_ blood looks like this, _Bucky’s_ , it’s…” He shook his head again, pulling off his glasses. “Erskine’s serum works like an extra molecule—I mean, that’s the only way to describe it in common words. It clings, it binds itself to every cell in their body, strengthens everything in them, makes them—”

“ _’Harder, better, faster, stronger’_?” Tony quipped, an impish smirk coloring his mouth.

Bruce blinked. “ _Don’t_ bring Kanye into this, Tony,” he returned.

Tony stared at him, shocked. “Wow—you _got_ that reference?”

But Bruce was already moving on. “But with _Darcy’s_ blood…I mean, from what I can tell…it’s repaired _any_ damage that’s _ever_ been done to her—including _inherited_ traits. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Her body is in the process of repairing itself— _already_. I mean, more than it’s already done. It’s snipping _every_ _single_ frayed edge.”

Tony frowned again. “So…she’s _not_ a super soldier?”

Bruce shrugged. “Well, we’ll only be able to learn more with further study and by talking to Darcy and running more tests once she’s up, but…from what I can tell, that should be in _hours_ , not days, or weeks, even.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them, fighting off a yawn. “It’s almost as though…while her body rejected the gross amount of the serum that was injected into her, it allowed it to _mutate_ , like a _virus_ , and it healed itself as a result.”

Tony raised a brow. “Like she’s got a new form of—”

“Her body adapted the serum for its own use.” He spun in his chair to stare hard at Tony. “Tell me _everything_ that happened yesterday. Start from the _beginning_.”

 

  


By the time Bucky had finished his shower— _way_ too long spent under a _scalding_ spray that would surely have burned Darcy’s fair skin—he was beyond exhausted. He didn’t think he could remember ever being so tired that his eyes refused to focus—which, considering his misbegotten past—was saying a lot. More than he cared to admit, particularly to himself.

            He slid on a pair of boxer briefs and slipped under the covers, pulling them up and trying to get comfortable on his side, alone in the bed. God, the thing was _huge_ —it was a damn _ocean_. No wonder Darcy had taken to sleeping on the couch; he was already freezing. He’d forgotten, so quickly, how lonely it was in the bed alone. Shared warmth was a strange thing, a comfort you didn’t notice until it was gone. Body heat.

            The story Barton had woven danced around in his head, and he rolled his eyes at the obvious point he’d been trying to hammer home. He wasn’t so beyond reason in those angry moments that he couldn’t tell when something was linear. It was frustrating that he’d been so transparent to someone he didn’t really know very well. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that he was so clearly getting comfortable around these people, letting his guard down? Was it safe—not for _him_ , but for _them_?

            Luckily, his body didn’t give him long to ruminate on it—he fell asleep in seconds, flat.

 

 

            He was making his way down a long hall, and he thought it was strange that he didn’t meet a soul. Good—less people to get in his way, after all.

            Finally, he reached the room he wanted and turned in, pulling the door shut behind him.

            “Was wondering when you’d show up,” a voice said.

            He turned to find Alexander Pierce sitting at his desk before a long bank of floor-to-ceiling windows, looking at him levelly.

            He jumped, his heart breaking into a gallop in his chest as he swallowed.

            “It’s funny. You—finding your footing, after all this time.” Pierce sighed. “It’s been so long. Decades, though, for you it probably doesn’t feel that way. He pulled a hand down his face and blinked into the sunlight streaming in. “I inherited you, you know that? From Vassily Karpov. You remember him?”

            He leveled him with a glare of his own, not bothering giving him the honor of a reply.

            Pierce shrugged. “Nah, I suppose there isn’t real much you _do_ remember, hm? Pretty patchy up there?” He gestured vaguely at his own head. “Yeah, Zola had fun with you, that was pretty clear, even when he was an old man.”

He came slowly into the room, not taking his eyes off of Pierce.

            But the senator was relaxed in his three-piece suit, leaning back in his expensive swivel chair. “He had fun plucking things from your head at will, inserting extra pieces where they didn’t really belong. Little something here, a little tweak there.” He smiled. “Man was a _genius_. He completely rewrote your programming, took you apart, piece by piece, and put you back together again. It’s a wonder that you’ve even found your way back to where you started.” He cocked his head at him, so casual and curious. “Still, with the amnesia, though?” He clucked his tongue. “Pesky thing, long-term, retrograde amnesia. Though, I suppose, maybe there isn’t that much _to_ remember.” He chuckled.

            He took another few steps into the room, touching at the gun in his holster.

            “Careful with that,” Pierce said. “There’s no external safety on the SIG.”

            He pulled it out, wrapping his hand around the comforting metal at his side.

            “Course, you already know that. It’s your girl needed reminding, right? Almost _shot_ you. Funny, how things turn around.” He swiveled the chair to face him, the sun cutting a beam off his shoulder. “Yeah, I know all about your girl. You caught me a little by surprise with that one. _Beauty and the Beast_ , eh?” He chuckled.

            He cocked the hammer, relishing the full snick of it as it slid back under the pressure of his thumb.

            “Ooh, _temper_ , _temper_ , _James_. Wouldn’t want to do something you might regret. Add it to the _list_. You did a lot of good work for us, I really see no reason why it has to stop now, just because our enemies found our little hidey-hole.”

            He stood, then, in one fluid motion, and Bucky pulled his lips back in a soft growl, raising the gun square on Pierce’s chest.

            The senator stopped, raising his hands in a show of surrender. “Oh, _come_ now. We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

            He took a step closer, the gun steady in his grip.

            Pierce smiled. “You took my advice, though, didn’t you? The advice I gave Nick. The only way to start over is to tear the old down, isn’t it? You tore out all our hard work, didn’t you?”

            Pierce stared at the gun, locked in his face. “Something you didn’t expect, though, was to find _her_ down there, right? Didn’t expect to find foundation, did you? Found all the nasty stuff that we’d weeded out of you.” He cocked a brow. “Like what you found? Maybe she’s the only goodness in you, soldier. Maybe there’s nothing honorable _left_ in you. Maybe we _smothered_ it out of you, hm? Did you ever think of _that_?”

            His heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn’t do it. To kill him was to prove him right.

            “Might be interesting to find out what would happen if we just…happened to pluck her away from you, hm? What, _then_? What would be left of you but _him_ , Winter Soldier? What would be left of you but the cold blooded killer, the perfect assassin that _we_ created—WE _MADE_ YOU AND WE CAN _UNMAKE_ YOU, BOY!” he yelled, his icy, kind voice morphing into one of harsh cruelty.

            “WE CAN STRIP AWAY ANY _SHRED_ THAT STILL REMAINS OF JAMES BARNES AND CRUSH HIM INTO _DUST_ , BOY! WE CAN MAKE IT SO _NOTHING_ EXHISTS BUT _HIM_! YOU’LL BE _NOTHING_ BUT THE BEAST _WE MADE YOU_ —”

            He squeezed the trigger, once, then twice, watching dispassionately as Pierce flew back with the force of the shots, landing hard on his back, blood blossoming on his chest.

            Two taps to the heart, bright red.

            He slowly approached, the gun lax in his grip, to stand over him, and stared straight down at him, face cold and unfeeling. “You know what they say about biting the hand that feeds you, right Pierce?” he sneered, looking down at him with contempt.

            Pierce stared up at him as he slowly died, taking his good time, expression surprised.

            Bucky smiled. “ _Hail HYDRA_.”

 

            He jerked gently awake.

            For a moment, he laid there, placing himself back in their bedroom, their huge bed, his hair still damp from his shower.

            He pulled his right arm from under the blankets and was vaguely surprised to find it empty, no sign of his SIG.

            He sat up, strangely awake, and looked at the clock to find he’d been out for a solid six hours and that it was late morning. He snorted. That had to be a record for a regular sleeping stint with no mission. Pulling a hand through his hair, he got up and got dressed, tossing his discarded gear down the laundry shoot from where he’d left it—too exhausted to do it earlier—in a pile before his shower. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a Beatles t-shirt Darcy had insisted on buying him a few weeks prior, with the four of them crossing a London street.

            Ten minutes and the rest of his reheated espresso later and he was running into Steve in the hall outside Bruce’s lab.

            “Oh. Hey, Buck,” he said, looking awkward.

            “Sorry about earlier, Steve,” he muttered. “I was…”

            “In pieces, yeah, and I was blathering like an _idiot_. I’ve got one setting since the War, and that’s talk until someone hears me and that wasn’t what you needed. If that had been Tasha…Just forget about it. ‘Kay?” He peered through the door. “She gonna be okay?”

            He nodded. “So far, so good.”

            Steve slapped him on the back and nodded. “Good. What about you? You put yourself back together?”

He hesitated. “Uh…yeah.”

Steve nodded. “Good. I’ll, uh, be by later, after she’s rested a little and everyone’s been by to drive her crazy.” He smirked, squeezed his shoulder, and went on his way.

            They parted in the hall and Bucky watched him go.

            Huh. Look at that. Personal growth on both fronts.

            He felt loose and clear. Clearer than he had in a long, long time, and that included before HYDRA had grabbed him on the balcony. That dream…something about that dream…it had been like his subconscious had been working out the very last of the chip on his shoulder. Putting the last of his demons to rest. Like he’d shut a door that had been letting in a draft, turned the key and hidden it in a drawer and forgotten which one.

            It ultimately ebbed away, though, as he approached the lab.

            He pulled his hand through his hair again and went in, finding her awake, looking clearer as she joked with Tony, animated. She was also _sitting_ _up_ , her feet dangling over the side of the bed.

            He stopped short, staring at her.

            Even for an enhanced person, there was _no_ _way_ she could be up yet.

            “ _Six hours_! That’s a record!” she crowed across the room, her voice clear. “I don’t think you’ve ever slept that long, unless you were fresh back from a mission!”

            “You’re up,” was all he managed, standing there, coffee clutched uselessly in his hand, in the middle of the room.

            Tony gave him a meaningful look and a raised eyebrow.

            “Yeah, I know! _Weird_ , right? Bruce said he’d explain everything later.”

            “Which is exactly what brings me to your comprehensive report.” Bruce said as he breezed in, his lab coat billowing behind him. “Bucky. Go ahead and take a seat.” He flipped a few pages in his hands and studied the readouts.

            Bucky went slowly to Darcy’s bedside and sat gingerly down, on edge, his body physically waiting for the other shoe to drop.

            Smiling wanly, Darcy immediately stuck out her hand and wiggled her fingers.

            He wove their fingers together and squeezed gently.

            Bruce took a deep breath and looked at them each in turn. “Darcy. You…you remember everything that happened?”

            She nodded. “Schmidt’s creepy machine. Got me through my armor—Tony, how’s that _work_?”

            Tony scowled. “I don’t know yet. Give me a few days.”

            “Tony said a pike came out of the wall and clamped you to the machine? And—”

            “Stuck her. It looked like the devices they used to use, back in the day, for the Smallpox test,” Bucky cut in.

           Bruce nodded. “And what did the fluid look like?”

            He shrugged. “Clear. Gelatinous.”

            Another nod. “And the injection marks are gone, now, aren’t they?”

            Darcy frowned, but didn’t move as Bucky carefully brushed the long curtain of her hair back from her neck—to reveal her clear, milky skin. He sighed. “Yep.”

            Finally, she blinked. “Wait— _already_?” She wriggled experimentally, glancing down at her belly. “And— _you haven’t let me move_. The only reason I’m up is because Tony had to go pee!” she accused.

Tony rolled his eyes.

She looked a little apprehensive, brow furrowed as she glanced again at her belly, seemingly unbothered by the position she was sitting in. Then her gaze drifted up to the IV of saline, and her eyes narrowed. “There aren’t any painkillers in my drip, are there?”

Bruce shook his head, looking sad as she started putting the pieces together on her own.

“What’s up, Doc?”

            Bruce spent a long moment staring at her. “How do you feel?”

            She shrugged again. “Tired. Like, exhausted, like fatigued, full-body bruise.”

            He nodded, consulting his paperwork again. “Chills? Feverish, like your body can’t self-regulate its temperature?”

            She nodded.

            He looked at Bucky.

            He nodded back.

            “What about last night? Did you sleep alright?”

            She shrugged. “Tossed and turned a little. Why?”

            Again, he sent a look in Bucky’s direction, and received a grim nod in return. “It’s already starting.”

            “Have you got her glasses?”

            “What’s with the cryptic looks, guys?” Darcy was ignored.

            The soldier nodded anyway, pulling them out of the pocket of his cardigan, and handing them over to his fiancé wordlessly.

            Studying his face, she took them blindly out of his offered reach. “Your poker face has always been shit, Barnes. What the fuck?”

            But Bucky was silent, his heart in his throat. He’d seen Tony’s text that morning, detailing and confirming what they’d already discussed and suspected. Her blood on the slides, regenerating on its own. It was almost too much for him to handle.

            “Would you put them on, Darce?” Bruce requested.

            Rolling her eyes, she slid them on.

            Then she paused, frowned, and slid them off again.

            Then she slid them back on, body going stiff as she focused down on Bucky’s hand, left empty on the bed in her lap.

            She slid them back off, looking spooked. “ _What the fuck is going on_?”

            Bruce sighed, but set his eyes on the Winter Soldier.

            His heart cracking down the middle, Bucky took a deep breath. “Schmidt…injected you…yesterday…we’re not sure yet, but it’s…likely similar to…the serum that runs in my veins,” he finally said, haltingly. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet her eyes; the last thing she deserved in a moment like this was cowardice.

            She blinked. Then she blinked again. “Wait. So I don’t need these anymore?” She held up her glasses.

            Bruce took over. “We don’t know yet, Darcy. I’ve been studying slides of your blood, compared to James’, but it’s too soon to tell just what’s going on. It appears that your body rejected the majority of the serum upfront. You very nearly bled out in the backseat of a Land Rover. Tony’s and Bucky’s fortitude is really the only thing that saved you. As it is, you went into cardiac arrest _twice_ on my table, I _almost_ _lost_ _you_. It was pretty touch-and-go. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t be able to pull it off…when your body took over.”

            Tony wrapped his hand around her other wrist and gave a gentle squeeze.

            “What does _that_ mean—my body…took over?”

            Bruce finally set his clipboard down in his lap. “It…was _incredible_. It reversed the damage _as I watched_. Now, a wound like the one you took to your abdomen, even something like _that_ would prove challenging for an enhanced system like that of Captain Rogers or James. But, in short, your body is healing itself _as we speak_ , and at _record_ speed. There’s no way you’d be sitting up after something like that, not for _weeks_. Meanwhile your body has set itself to other things. You don’t need your glasses, you don’t need as much sleep. You missed your coffee this morning and you probably feel chipper, hm?”

            Frowning in what was clearly confusion, she blinked, and nodded. “So…I’m _fine_?” She pulled on her white gown and revealed the marred flesh of her belly. A wide pink and red circle of semi-raw flesh was still there, but it was knitted and working on scar tissue. “This is… _it_?”

            Bruce nodded. “That’s _weeks_ old, to say the _least_. Now, something like that would pose a challenge for Steve or Bucky, but—”

            “First stick gave you a jump-start,” Bucky cut in, his voice low and grim.

            She looked up into his face, staring, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed, eyes locked on hers in something that resembled mourning. “The dose he gave you…Darcy, what he meant when he said they’d perfected the administration of the serum, was that he’d given you…the full dose. Equal to whatever Steve would’ve had to have been dosed with during The War. Your body went into shock as we brought you in. It rejected the serum, but adopted certain elements for its use. We…don’t know what those elements are…yet.”

Looking stricken, she was silent, staring back at him for a long moment. Finally, she reached up to trace the features of his face. “I…I didn’t notice before…” Her fingers ran the lines of his features, down his nose, and along the deep shadow under an eye. “I can see your face…”

            He nodded.

            She looked to Bruce. “What’s happening to me? Am I turning into…?”

            Bruce cut her off before she could panic. “ _We don’t know_. We have an _idea_ , but we don’t know for sure. All we really have to go on is…” His eyes drifted back to former assassin.

            Bucky swallowed, working to look up into her eyes again and squeezed her hand. “You feel feverish. You cold?”

            She nodded.

            Tony wrapped her in the hospital blanket that had fallen behind her and squeezed her shoulders.

            “On-edge? Unsettled?”

            She nodded.

            “How’s your stomach?”

            She shrugged. “Why?”

            He turned to Bruce. “Two-for-three.”

            Bruce made a note in the files and clicked the pen shut. “Anything else?”

            He curled his fingers around her wrist and slid one hand along her chest, dipping to press his metal palm to her sternum.

            She flushed and wriggled, but held mostly still.

            “Pulse is slow, but her heart rate is elevated. Two-for-two.” He released her and held up his open metal hand. “Punch me.”

            Sensing the seriousness of the situation, she didn’t argue; instead, she leveled a punch to his palm, just the way he’d trained her to do so well, months and months ago.

            He sighed, dropping his hands back into his lap. “Average response.”

            Finally, she couldn’t take any more. “What the _actual fuck_ , you guys?”

            Bruce sighed. “So far, Darcy, it would seem that you aren’t a super soldier.” He gave her a wry look. “ _But_ …” He stood, crossed the room, and rummaged in a drawer. “One more thing.” And he held up a huge syringe. “More blood. And a little test. Two birds, one stone.”

            She held her arm out dutifully and watched as Bruce secured the tourniquet and set to work, puncturing the skin at her elbow easily and drawing out the plunger. When he pulled it neatly out again, Bucky’s eyes were sharp on her.

            All four of them stared as the hole knit itself back up in a few short seconds, disappearing before their eyes.

            Darcy’s mouth dropped open. “ _Holy_ _shit_. What’s happening to me?! I’m a _freak_?!”

            Bucky flinched.

            Tony, seeing this, stepped in. “You’re not a freak, Short Stack. You just…fit in a little better around here, now.” He gave her a cheeky wink.

            She just slumped, staring down at her elbow, her finger tracing the smooth skin where the insertion point had been as though searching out a trace of the puncture.

            Tony watched her for a long moment, and looked up to where Bruce was fidgeting with the syringe, frowning at his paperwork. “Uh, hey Big Guy?”

            Bruce looked up.

            “Um, maybe she doesn’t need to stick around for the observation, huh? I mean, JARVIS is as good at doing that as anyone else, and she’ll be… _more comfortable at home, yeah_?”

            Bruce hesitated, his eyes roaming slowly over Bucky’s hunched form, curled instinctively around Darcy, his arm arched around her shoulders. His face tightened at his obvious distress, then eased into an expression of knowing sympathy, and he nodded. “Sure. Yeah. After all, she’ll be with someone who knows what to expect. JARVIS can report on the hour, if…the two of you don’t mind him keeping tabs on you and reporting.” He held out a hand. “Just on physical distress, nothing more.”

            Tony nodded. “Hear that, J?”

            “ _Noted, Sir_ ,” the android answered calmly.

            Bruce took a few more readings, a few more notes and Tony ushered them out and to the elevator, partly in awe, and partly in distress as he watched Darcy hobble slowly on her own two feet. Seeing her up and about after… _all that_ …was unnatural, even though he was filled with relief.

            He could only imagine how Bucky was feeling, his flesh arm wrapped protectively around her waist as he helped her into the lift. “You two take it easy. I’m sure Bruce will be up in the morning to check on you. I might swing by.” He gave them what he was sure was a wan smile and they went up.

            “Couch or bed?” he asked, glancing at the clock as they came in. It was almost noon. His stomach growled in an act of enhanced betrayal.

            “Couch,” she answered, her voice pitched low.

            He got her settled gently, careful not to let her jostle, then covered her with the throw and crossed to the long, expensive drapes on the giant windows. “Open or closed?”

            Her eyes rose to take in the sunlight spilling in. “Open.”

            He gestured at the TV. “On or off?”

            And she held out her hand, looking lost. “Option C.”

            He frowned. “What?”

            “ _You_. Come here.”

            Sighing, he crossed back to her and sat gingerly down on the other end of the couch.

            She sighed and wriggled closer. “You’re not gonna break me, Jamie…”

            At the sound of her little pet name, he softened further and reached out, frowning softly at the fact she was struggling to move. “ _Don’t_. Don’t try to move. Here.” He scooted over and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her up against him. “There. Better?”

            She nodded, burrowing into his side and settling her head on his chest.

            Her head was hot against his sternum, even through the fabric of his t-shirt. “You’re burning up.”

            She burrowed nearer. “I’m _freezing_. You’re like a space heater.”

            He tightened his arm, rubbing gently to encourage friction and in an attempt at hurrying the warming of the metal appendage.

            “Am I making _you_ too hot, though?”

            He dropped his mouth to her forehead. “No. Just rest.”

            For a long few moments, it was silent, but for the ticking of the Eiffel Tower clock Darcy had hung the week prior, the metal hands clicking away against the bare wall. “Jamie…” she murmured.

            “Mm?”

            “…I’m scared.”

            He adjusted his grip on her so they were facing each other better and ran his fingers through her long, soft hair. “I know.” His heart felt like it was made of ice and it was cracking, fissures running along the insides, invisible from the exterior, but painful and ready to shatter. “…Me too.”

            She nuzzled his chest. “Darcy Lewis _doesn’t get scared_.”

            He contemplated the statement. “You would say that fear is just another emotion that makes the Winter Soldier human.”

            She sighed. “You’re not supposed to use my words against me, Barnes.”

            He slid his metal fingers through her hair again. “Storm’s coming. It won’t be easy. It’ll be rough seas. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

            She pressed her face closer against him. “I know.”

            “I love you,” he murmured, brushing the long curtain of her hair over her shoulder. “I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

            She nuzzled him again. “Then everything will be okay.”

            His heart was stinging, the cracks vibrating and threatening to break. “Nothing about this is okay, Darcy.”

            “I know…but it will be.”

 

 


	10. The Finishing Straight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein cause leads to effect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys. Here's the next one. This one's pretty fluffy, for the most part, so I hope that's okay, but I felt like we needed some buildup for the ending I had planned.
> 
> That's right: the end is nigh. I'm thinking instead of doing an overlong last chapter, I'll make it an even twelve and have a little epilogue? How's that sound for everyone? 
> 
> Anyhoo. Let me know how you guys like. Hope it's okay. And because I'm apparently a more rabid fangirl than I like to admit to myself, I can't seem to let these two out of my grip and have already started on another installment. So I guess let me know if you want to see that or if you're getting, like, bored and stuff...
> 
> Prepare yourself for fluff-I'm also sort of curious if this is what you guys were thinking at all when Buck said he thought this was the calm before the storm...

He was right, _of course_.

            It _was_ awful. In fact, it was _so much worse_ than Darcy had expected that she would’ve been shocked if she’d had the energy.

            She wasn’t sure just what the hell her body was doing with this new gunk in her system, but she was definitely sure she wanted Bucky to _kill_ her—swiftly, just the way his alter ego usually dispatched political figures and government usurpers back in the day.

            When she suggested this, he wryly refused.

            At first, she’d started thinking she might get off easy with a day or two of chills and what-not. But it quickly escalated until she spent the night curled on the bathroom floor, pressing her fevered face against the cool tiles while Bucky leaned back against the doorway, refusing to leave her. His reasoning that he didn’t need to sleep anyway didn’t help her feel any better, no matter how sweet it was.

            She spent the next three days curled in on herself in bed, shivering, her temperature climbing and climbing, Bruce coming and going—though Darcy wasn’t sure, since she was fairly certain she was to the delusional stage—and Bucky refused to give her a blanket.

            “I _hate_ you,” she finally seethed through her chattering teeth on the third day. “I know I said I _loved_ you, but I think I change my mind.”

            Wincing, he pressed his face against her back. “I’m sorry, doll. We’ve got to get your fever to spike. And since you’re not keeping anything down anyway, the only thing I can do for you is keep you outta blankets and make tea. That’s all I’ve got. We’ve gotta see this part through. _Trust_ me.”

            She continued shivering well into the night.                                                 

            Tony came by. How many times he did so eluded her, because the next stage seemed to be endless sleep. Once or twice she thought she could hear his voice intermingled with Bucky’s, but she wasn’t sure. The only thing she could discern was their worried tones.

            When she finally woke, it was to find she’d been largely comatose for _four days_ , and Bucky was hollow-eyed and pale, and she knew he likely hadn’t slept much either.

            She passed out again as JARVIS reported in, clueless as to what he said.

            When next she woke, it was to Tony sitting in the lounger in the corner of the bedroom, _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ propped open on the arm.

            She groaned groggily and he looked up. “How long has it been this time?” she rasped, her voice a pathetic snag of sound.

            “Only a few hours.”

            Awareness slowly crept in, and the room came into color around her, and she looked around, jumping when she realized they were alone. “Where’s Jamie?” Worry and irrational fear clutched an icy fist around her heart.

            Tony didn’t find her distress bemusing. Frowning softly, he shut the book. “It’s okay. He’s here, he hasn’t left you. He’s sleeping on the couch. I came over to drop off some of that expensive tea from that boutique you like and he was _disturbingly_ haggard. Don’t think he’s looked that bad since his stint in the lock-up downstairs. I _insisted_ he go sleep. He’s been up for _days_. Even for _him_ , that’s ridiculous.”

            She groaned again, pain shooting up her spine and climbing her brain stem. “ _Fuck_.”

            Tony sighed. “How you doing?”

            She let her head loll in his direction and studied him blearily. “Do you want the truth?”

            A painful smirk and a glance toward the short hall. “He’s uh…he’s really worried about you.”

            “Oh, yeah? What’d he say?”

            “Nothing. That’s how I know.”

            She frowned groggily. “ _What_?”

            Tony shrugged. “The more he pulls back into himself, the more he hides behind the Winter Soldier, the more upset he is. He’s barely spoken to me in days. We communicate in glances and wordless gestures, he barely responds and he lets me do what I want. That’s my gauge.”

            She frowned at this, confused. “But I heard you talking to each other…?”

            He nodded. “Yeah, that was _four_ _days ago_ , Short Stack. He’s retreated a little more every day since then.”

            She groaned again.

            Tony sat back with a long sigh. “He’s brokenhearted. I don’t have to be a genius to know that. He never wanted anything like this to happen to you.”

            “Too late to turn back now…isn’t that a song or something?”

            Tony’s brow furrowed. “You still delirious? I can go wake him up…?”

            She shook her head, wincing as it throbbed. “No, _don’t_. He needs to rest. He gets sorta… _funny_ if he’s up that long.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, I got that.”

            “No, not like _that_ …he said he gets like the lines between him and…what they did to him blur and he has trouble separating himself. I’m sure with this, it’s only worse.”

            An eyebrow arched. “ _Really_?”

            She managed to clumsily extricate a hand so she could wave it at him. “That’s what he’s _said_ ; I’ve never seen evidence of it. But he’s _never_ lied to me, and he’s _super_ careful, and I take him at his word. Never once have I felt less than safe with him; _never once_.”

            He nodded, satisfied.

            “Is Bruce keeping a watchful eye from afar?”

            He smirked. “Yeah. He was in last night, took your temperature and your blood pressure while you were under. Buck hovered like a hawk with prey, but Bruce just laughed.”

            She smiled wanly. “That’s him, Mama Bear. What’s the prognosis?”

            He shook his head. “Too soon to tell. Reflexes were normal, heart rate’s still elevated, pulse is low, and your blood pressure should’ve dropped a male African Lion it was so bottomed out.”

            She stared at him. “What’s _that_ mean?”

            He shrugged. “Dunno yet. All we know is that the number was almost identical to Mr. Frosty. Bruce was freaked first time he took his. Made him lie down and everything, was sure he was stroking out or something. But it stayed that way and he was upright, walking around, so the doc just assumes it’s normal for him, after everything they did to him.”

            She groaned again as her back protested, her spine pulling and complaining. “Ugh, _God_ , you got any of those awesome pills on you, Boss Man?”

            He smirked, but shook his head. “I would, kid, but your keeper said no.”

            She scowled. “ _God_ , I hate him… _why_?”

            “Until we know what’s going on, _no drugs_. We can’t chance anything reacting or upsetting the balance of whatever’s going on in your system.”

            She sighed out another groan as the pain ratcheted up.

            “What is it—your back?”

            She nodded. “How’d you know?”

            “He had a hunch, based on where you were injected.” He stood. “Let me get the heating pad warmed up. I’ll be right back, kiddo.”

            “He has a _heating pad_?”

            He smirked. “He’s been there, done that, Short Stack. He’s all set to go. But you’ve been lingering longer in the stages than what he remembers. It’s got him freaked out. Second day, you still didn’t wake up, he was _climbing the walls_.” He left her, wandering down the hall, and voices conversing told her Bucky was up, likely listening to their conversation closely. “How you be, Ice Man?”

            Another stab of pain shot up her back like a bolt of lightning, and she gasped, arching her back against it and clenching her jaw. It was rapidly followed by another. A betraying mewl escaped, and she curled in on herself, squeezing her eyes shut as it radiated up her spine and spread, ringing like a gong, along her ribs. “Oh, _God_ …”

            An arm came around her and she jumped, then winced as the movement enticed another hot lance of pain. She hissed.

            “Sshhh…” The arm was attached to a body, and there was warm weight at her back, pressing close against her. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

            “How’s the kid doing?” a voice inquired.

            “Stage Four. Is the heating pad ready?”

            There was some shifting around, then a square of heat was pressing against her back, along her spine, right there, where the pain was starting.

            She jerked in an attempt at getting away, pathetic mewling betraying her as she struggled futilely against the arm around her. “No…”

            “ _Yes_. It’s a muscle spasm. You need to apply heat or it’ll only get worse,” said the voice in her ear. Hands pressed the pad closer while another pair held her legs down, keeping her hostage.

            “She’s not fully aware anymore, is she?”

            A long, weary sigh. “No…no, she’s not.”

            “I was just talking to her five minutes ago…”

            “That’s all it takes: five minutes.”

            “God _damn_ , Barnes. How’d you do this alone?”

            “ _Willpower_. _Lots and lots_ of willpower. And something else.”

            “ _What_ else?”

            There was a long pause. “…I try not to think about that too closely.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because…that’s when it started. When _he_ …started. When he was cleaved out of me. If I hadn’t consciously treated the idea of them making me into someone else as a separate entity, then I really would’ve become two separate people. Does that make sense?”

            For a long moment, the other voice was silent. “That’s some damn strong willpower, kid. Even more than I thought you had. You still feel better if you think of him as a separate person, huh?”

            “…I have to. Otherwise…”

            The other voice didn’t comment.

            “…Otherwise, I’m just the man who murdered Howard and Maria Stark.”

            “It’s _okay_ , kid. It was a long time ago. And things have changed. _I’ve_ changed. You didn’t know what you were doing. It’s _over_.”

            The heat eased the roiling in her back, and the muscles rippling beneath her skin calmed to a gentle jerking now and then that was easy to ignore as she drifted, exhausted, between sleep and alertness. “Sorry…I disappeared there, again, didn’t I?”

            “You block it out however you have to, Darce,” he murmured at her back. “ _Trust_ me.”

            “You just worry about you, okay, Short Stack?”

            “Tony…go home, go sleep. We’re good.”

            “Buck…”

            “I’ve had enough down time. I’ll be fine.”

            A long pause.

            “ _Go_ , Stark, or _I’ll make you go_.” His voice low and threatening, he sounded like he meant it.

            “Alright, alright, alright… _God_ …Didn’t have to sic the Soldier on me…”

            Distantly, the front door shut.

            For a long time, it was quiet, but she was aware enough to know that the cadence of his breathing signaled his consciousness.

            “I guess this rules out sex tonight, huh?”

            He huffed out a soft laugh. “You’re joking. That’s good.”

            “Do I look and smell as disgusting as I feel?”

            His hand tightened around her hip. “No.”

            “ _Liar_.”

            “You want me to run you a hot bath? That should help.”

            She groaned. “That would be _awesome_.”

            He got her settled on her back, the heating pad trapped beneath her, while he ran the bath, and the sounds of him puttering around calmed her, felt familiar and safe. When he returned for her, she opened her arms beseechingly. He came readily, sliding onto the bed and sitting next to her, a hand on her opposite hip. “What?”

            She traced his fingers. “You take good care of me…” she murmured softly. “My fella.”

            He smiled softly, his eye-crinkling smile. “That’s what a guy does for his best girl.”

            She shrugged tiredly.

            “You ready?”

            She nodded.

            “You want to try and walk or you want me to carry you?”

            Grimacing, she pulled herself up and wriggled to the edge of the bed. “I’ll try and walk.”

            He looked like he wanted to protest, but nodded, slipping his arm around her waist as she slid to the floor.

            She winced. “ _Shit_ , hardwood gets cold.”

            He smiled. “Quit your whining, Lewis.”

            She made it a few steps before her knees gave out, and she slumped against him. “ _Damn_ it.”

            He caught her up easily and she slid into his arms. “You’re rushing it. Don’t try to rush it.”

            She grumbled.

            “It’s okay to be less than one hundred percent all the time. You don’t need to be at the top of your game every single second. That’s what _I’m_ for.”

            “Oh, yeah?”

            “ _Yeah_ , Lewis.”

            “I thought you were just here because you were really good in bed.”

            “That too.”

            She gave a weak laugh as they crossed into the bathroom. “Oh, you filled it all the way. And the jets…”

            “Glad you moved in now, huh? Stark doesn’t do anything halfway.”

            “And thank Christ he doesn’t.”

            He laughed, lowering her to the floor. “Here. Lean on me.” He guided her hands to his shoulders, and hit his knees, tugging her lounge pants down and off, before working on the rest of her clothes.

            “This should be really sexy, but my libido is, like, _nonexistent_ …” she quipped wearily.

            He smiled, rising again to standing so he could press a kiss to her bare shoulder. Maneuvering in a surprisingly non-clumsy way, he got her into the tub and down into the frothing water. “Truthfully, from a _scientific_ standpoint, an orgasm or two would probably do you good right now, as ironic as it is that I probably would have a hard time actually coaxing one out of you…”

            She let out a sinful moan to match his comment as she sank into the perfectly tempered bath, her whole body easing into the massaging jets. “Oh, God, you got it _perfect_ , Jamie…”

            He gave her a cheeky smirk. “Just what every guy likes to hear.”

            She sniffled. Then sniffled again. “ _Seriously_ …” she gasped.

            Concern trickled through him and he settled beside the tub, getting comfortable. He’d known this was coming; the moment she finally snapped, breaking into tiny little pieces in his hands. “It’s alright, love.”

            She shook her head, tears tracking, one from each eye and following the line of her high cheekbones. “ _No_. No, it’s _not_. This…this isn’t _me_.”

            He settled a hand in the water. “What do you mean?”

            She set her head back against the ceramic. “ _This_! This isn’t _me_! I don’t fall apart like this! And _I’m_ supposed to take care of _you_ , not make _more_ stress for you! And this—this— _this_ …” She started hiccupping and sat up, covering her face with her hands and weeping uncontrollably, her shoulders shivering in the water. “This wasn’t supposed to _happen_ like this…” she squeaked, her hair falling loose from its ponytail and dipping into the water, the deep brown almost black on the surface.

            “ _Darcy_ …” His heart felt like it was cracking down the middle.

            “I don’t know what I’m supposed to _do_ now!”

            “Nothing has to change, baby…”

            “And what the _fuck_ does that mean—‘ _nothing has to change’_?! _Nothing has to change_?! Jamie, _I’m changing_! I’m…turning into one of Charles Xavier’s _Mutants_!” She splashed as she gestured around.

            Feeling helpless, he stood and pulled off his t-shirt before sliding off his jeans and boxers.

            “What, now this is a _booty_ _call_?!” she exclaimed.

            “Calm down, Darce,” he tried to sooth her. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think anything about this is sexy.” He stepped in and settled in the water as she continued to weep helplessly, sliding until he was situated behind her. “Take a breath, love. You’re gonna work yourself into a panic attack, and that’s the _last_ thing you need.” He pulled her back against his front and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not turning into a mutant, Darcy.”

            She didn’t struggle against him, but bowed along his shape, weak and pliable. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now,” she continued, calmer, but still weepy. “I’m Darcy Lewis, I’m Jane’s plucky assistant. I make quips in meetings and keep the Winter Soldier from blowing up the building.”

            “Very funny,” he murmured.

            “I…I’ve _always_ been independent. After mom walked out. And dad’s an _ass_. I got out as soon as I could. I kept Jane in one piece, I kept her fed and watered and made sure she got enough sunlight. I got my degree, I wiggled my way into a fantastic job. I had _everything under control_.”

            “Darcy, you’re fiancé will be the first one to tell you that it might _feel_ like you’ve got everything under control, but in reality, _nothing_ is. _Nothing is in your control_. It’s a pulley system of give and take, opportunity and decision, and things being taken out of our hands. Your fate is interwoven in that. _You control you_. And _nothing_ else.”

            She nodded, taking a ragged breath in. “I can _try_.”

            He laughed wryly. “You sure can. But here’s your rude awakening, babe.”

            She shook against him. “I’m _scared_.”

            “I know.”

            “Darcy Lewis _doesn’t get_ scared.”

            “She does now. I’m right there with you. I’m _terrified_. I’m just better at hiding it. I’ve had a _long time_ to learn how.”

            She curled against him.

            “I’m _right here with you_. I’m not going _anywhere_. You’re not alone. _I’m here_.”

            “Watching me fall apart.”

            “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a lotta practice picking people back up again, isn’t it?”

            She shifted closer.

            “I was alone, Darcy. For this. For _all_ of it. I was alone. Most of the time, I was drugged. And I was so locked away in my own head that _even I couldn’t hear my screaming_.”

            She shuddered. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

            “That’s not why I said it. I said it for comparison. You’re _not_ alone. I’m _staying_. I’m in this for the haul, dollface. You’re stuck with me.” He pressed a long, warm kiss to her bare shoulder, and ran his hands down her back, feeling the muscles rock-hard again despite the tempered water. “Try and relax your back, okay? Try and release.”

            She nodded, silent.

            Slowly, he worked on the knots with his large hands, coaxing one small area to smoothness before moving on to another.

            She tensed.

            “ _Relax_. I’ve got you.”

            “I agreed to marry you before I considered that it meant I’d be giving up a certain amount of my control…”

            He raised a brow as he worked on the area he’d just finished, hard and tense again. “ _No control is going anywhere_. Let’s just establish that _right_ now. Getting married is viewed as this life-changing thing, and yeah, it _is_ , but…I dunno. I guess, on the flipside, I don’t really _get_ it. We’re already a unit, we’re already living together. Nothing about that has to change. All we’re doing is signing a piece of paper, sliding on rings and saying a few words. That’s _it._ Don’t make it more complicated than it has to be. We humans like to do that.”

            For a long few moments, she was quiet again. “…Any idea what to expect next?”

            The awful migraine that lasted for days and days and made him want to die a quick death? He didn’t say it out loud. Besides, he wasn’t even sure it would happen to her.

            But it did.

            As soon as she woke the next morning, there was building pressure in her head, just over her brain stem, regrettably and coincidentally in the same damn spot as the last ones she’d endured.

            Likely, because she’d been injected near there. And likely because her brain was drawing new neural pathways.

            The last stage.

            Everything else would follow in a domino effect.

            _Ridiculous_ reflexes.

            Strength.

            Enhanced learning capabilities.

            He’d have an unbreakable wife before all this was over.

            Of course…Bruce had already determined that her blood looked slightly different from his; apparently, she’d gone into such severe shock on the drive back from Queens because her body had rejected most of the serum immediately.

            The awful idea that this might go the opposite way slunk stealthily through his head, going largely unnoticed until the second afternoon, when, finally having gotten the okay from Bruce to give her some of Tony’s pain meds, he’d jumped, the thought smacking him in the face so hard he’d dropped the entire pill bottle and scattered them all across the floor. “ _Fuck_ ,” he snapped, ducking to sweep them up.

            “What’s wrong?” Darcy called from their pitch dark bedroom, where he’d drawn the curtains and Tony had—only that morning—installed a digital shade to block the sunlight from their edges.

            “Nothing…” he answered, trying to project his quavering voice, even as he watched his hands shake.

            The idea that she could waste away in all this sent his heart pounding, adrenaline shooting through him in alarm, and he knelt there for a full ten minutes, long after he’d gathered all the caplets back into the bottle, trying to get a grip on his rampaging emotions.

            Strong. He had to be strong for her.

            He couldn’t fall apart now.

            She needed a hand at her back.

            Only one of them could be down at a time.

            Swallowing and shutting his eyes, he gathered himself, before standing and filling a glass with water and rushing back to her.

            He spent a long time reading to her as they waited for the pain in her head to ease and give her relief. The last stage lingered for days and days, and she curled in on herself, waiting on daggers for the hour when she could take another of Tony’s pills.

            She didn’t know what they were, but she knew they were _magical_.

            Bucky’s voice was pitched low as he worked his way through _Harry Potter_ , and something in the cadence of his words and the way he spoke was calming and she determined they needed to start the series over and read it this way and this way only.

            He’d sit curled up in the middle of the bed and let her curl around him however she liked, and she usually ended up around his front, her head on a knee, breathing in his warm, clean smell as she let her eyes drift shut, his voice surrounding her. Usually, she’d wake sometime later to find she’d fallen asleep and that he’d carefully slipped away, draping a blanket over her before moving on to other things, cleaning, folding the laundry from the building service downstairs, a history book propped open or the tablet open to some internet page. Since waking from his slumber as the Winter Soldier, he was a virtual sponge.

            Once, she shuffled out on her own two feet to find him making tea—the _long_ way—hovering over a simmering pot, half a lemon in one hand, the bottle of honey in the other, the counter scattered with loose material and the tea sifter. “What are you doing?” she rasped, frowning in confusion.

            He looked up and smiled, though the sweet expression did nothing to mask the sallow exhaustion of his face. “You’re up.”

            She nodded, flouncing down onto the couch.

            “How you feel?”

            “Do you want the _truth_?”

            He cocked a brow. “That good, huh?” He dumped the other lemon half and a tea bag into the diffuser and poured the mixture into the teapot. “I’m making you tea. It’ll help.”

            “Are you _serious_?” she drawled, watching him skeptically.

            “Might not seem like it, but it does.”

            She raised a brow as he set the teapot on the burner and set the pot in the sink. “I was stationed for a while in England. Trust me—tea helps _everything_.” He came around the kitchen island and joined her on the couch, pulling her arm into his grip and wrapping his fingers around her wrist. “Pulse is still low.” He slid that same hand around her back and pressed it between her shoulder blades, searching out her heart beat. “But your heart rate is still elevated.” His brow quirked. “Interesting.”

            “Why?”

            In response, he took up her hand again and brought it up, along his hard abdominals and over his sternum. “Here. Feel mine.” He pressed his hand down over hers against his heart.

            It thumped rapidly against her palm. She gasped, staring up at him. “Oh, my God. _Mine’s_ doing that?!” She jerked her hand away, and he let her go. “Am I gonna have a massive coronary?!”

            He smiled, and shook his head. “No. No heart attacks for you. The serum is in your blood. Everything moves faster, more efficiently. The heart muscle is strengthened so it can pump _more_ blood, harder, and faster, and keep everything running smoothly, at speed.”

            She stared at him, a sense of awe breaking through her grogginess, and she replaced her hand on his chest, leaning in to him to focus on the double-time rhythm.

            “You’ve never noticed before? You rest your head there often enough…” His tone was wry.

            “You’ve never complained before…” she returned.

            “And I never will.”

            She looked up at him, his face so close, his eyes a ridiculous blue, even washed out and tired. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “To be causing all this trouble.” She reached up to run a finger down his jawline, scruffy with three days’ worth of stubble. “To be causing you all this stress and worry. That’s the last thing you need.”

            He drew her hand away and gathered her into his lap and into his arms and tucked them into the corner of the couch. “ _Never_ apologize for that. Guy takes care of his girl. Besides, you did plenty of taking care of me. Think it’s about time I had an opportunity to return the favor. Not, of course, that this was the opportunity I _envisioned_ —or hoped for.” He ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. “I think I’m pretty good at this whole nurturing thing.” He smirked.

            She nodded, nuzzling her head against his chest. God, now his rapid heart was so obvious; she wasn’t sure how she’d missed it before. “What’s next?” she asked, reaching up to pull at his t-shirt and watch it drift back down against his skin. The material was soft and well-worn. “What magnificent tortures await me now?”

            “None.”

            She blinked. “ _None_?”

            “None.”

            She raised her head to stare at him.

            His eyes were apprehensive. “You’re all done.” He swallowed.

            “What…what do you mean?”

            “You’re done. It’s over.”

            She was sure her eyes were wide. “So… _now_ what?”

            He sighed, reaching up again to brush her hair back and his hand was trembling. “Now we wait.”

            She gulped. “For what? My self-destruct sequence?”

            He didn’t even crack a smile. “If you’ve changed…if your body has accepted more of the serum than Bruce initially thought…you’ll know it. _We’ll_ know it. Signs will crop up.”

            She swallowed again. “What’s it…feel like?”

            He shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t feel any different than I felt _before_ I was a POW.” He shrugged his left arm. “This thing is more a nuisance than anything else. It’s stronger than me, even with the serum. It’s difficult to keep it in check. It feels like my arm and it doesn’t.”

            She nodded.

            “We’ll take it slow, okay? Business as usual. Get you back in the world, let Bruce run his tests, see what he has to say. It might be nothing. It might be…that your life was saved and the serum is…used up.” He shrugged again. “No way to know. It’s not like there’s much of a precedent for this.”

            “What do _you_ think?”

            He winced. “Like I said before. I think…this is the calm before the storm.”

            She flinched. “Well. You’ve never lied to me.”

            His hand ran up her back in a soothing motion. “And I never will.”

            She nodded. “I know.”

           

 

            At first, it seemed like nothing was amiss. Her beastly headaches drifted to the background before listing off entirely, and she returned to work with Tony, even as the eccentric inventor kept one over-protective eye trained on her at all times, as though expecting her to blow up.

            Bruce hovered for that first week as well, before determining that her blood still looked like Bucky’s—if a little different—and that they’d have to just…hurry up and wait.

            She could tell that Bucky was nervous but trying desperately to hide it from her—which, given the fact they were engaged and living together—made it all that much more obvious to her. Feeling soft and sentimental at his sweet worry, she let him have his security in his masking of it and pretended not to notice.

            She was trying to determine, really, if she felt any different. She spent the first few nights staring at her naked body after her shower, trying to find differences in herself, and spent quite a lot of time tracing the rapidly paling scar on her belly, much less angry than it _had_ been, but still much less _everything_ than it would be for anyone _else_.

            She scowled, squinting at it, and darted a glance at her discarded glasses on the counter.

            “Tea?” Bucky asked, swinging into the doorway. He paused. “…Whatcha doing?”

            She flushed, but not because of her clothes-less state. “Nothing.”

            He smirked, cocking his head. “It’s clearly _something_.”

            She sighed, turning to get a different angle.

            He crossed his arms and leaned, holding up the doorway with one sexy hip. “C’mon. Out with it, Lewis.”

            She eyed him. “Pretty soon, you’re gonna have to call me something other than ‘Lewis’. Won’t be my last name anymore.”

            His brows drew up in surprise. “Really?”

            She blinked, her attention successfully drawn away from her reflection. “Well. _Yeah_. The offer of marriage still stands, right?”

            He smirked. “Last I checked.”

            She gestured. “ _Ergo_ …”

            He shrugged. “It’s just…I dunno. I guess I figured you’d keep ‘Lewis’.”

            She blinked again. “Why?”

            “Well…you’re a pretty…independent dame. I mean, women don’t do so much of that stuff anymore. I’d be okay with it if you didn’t want Barnes.”

            “My ‘ _born in 1917, good Catholic boy, patriotic World War Two vet’_ fiancé doesn’t care if I don’t take his last name?” she asked skeptically, eyeing him up with a wry look.

            He grinned. “It’s not like that, Darce.”

            “It’s _not_?”

            He sighed. “I know how you are. And I’m _okay_ with that. This isn’t 1944, doll, things don’t follow convention like they used to. And there’s nothing saying that a woman has to fill some requirement. You don’t like Barnes, you don’t have to take it and you can still be my wife. Pretty simple.”

            She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head. “So…what would you _want_ me to do…?”

            A sly grin. “Well. There’s something to be said for your girl taking your last name. Can’t deny that.”

            “You think it sounds good?”

            He shrugged. “Just _think_ about it. Nothing is set in stone.” He gestured. “Now, you wanna tell me what in the blue blazes you’re doing in here, naked in front of the mirror? Not that I’m complaining about the view, or anything…”

            She shrugged, going back to her reflection. “I keep waiting for something to happen…”

            His eyes softened. “Darce…you’re not going to suddenly transform into this…horrible beast.”

            She sighed. “I know, I know. I just…I dunno…”

            He cocked his head. “What?”

            Staring at the scar on her belly, she could only shrug again.

            His voice came again, soft and tender. “Come on. Talk to me, sweetheart.”

            She took a breath. “I just…I keep holding my breath. I mean…I’m _alive_. I didn’t die. And I _should’ve_.”

            “I shouldn’t have survived falling off a train in the Alps.”

            “No, I know. But…I hate being a source of worry. It makes me feel guilty. And it makes me feel like I’m in a fishbowl. And…”

            He sighed. “…I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

            “And you…” She swallowed. “…You never wanted this for me, and the look on your face when you think I’m not looking, and…” She looked away, biting her lip.

            He was silent, staring at her with those sad blue eyes. “…So you thought I wouldn’t want you if you were like me?” he asked softly, his voice full of confusion and surprise.

            She shrugged.

            He took a step. “ _Darcy_ …”

            She could feel the blush climb her cheeks.

            He laughed. “Well, that idea is…silly. Have you really looked at your reflection at all?”

            She shrugged again.

            He sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. “Darcy, I never wanted this for you because I don’t think you’ve completely realized, yet, just _how much_ it has the potential to _change your life._ Baby…things are gonna change.”

            She sighed. “I know.”

            He shook his head, taking another step into the room. “ _No_ , love, you _don’t_. Our line of work…people will be after you.”

            She shrugged again. “So far, I’m nothing special.”

            He cocked a brow. “Then I’ll go get one of my knives and slice my way up your arm, and we’ll show everyone how you _don’t_ heal on contact.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Jamie—”

            “ _HYDRA’s still out there_. They’re _never_ going to stop, babe, and they’re not the only ones. You’re _special_ to them, now. They’ll be after you.”

            Her shoulders slumped. “Then I’ll never leave the Tower again.”

            He gave her a look. “Didn’t stop them from getting to me.”

            She traipsed past him and he let her go, and she went over to the bed and pulled her folded pajama pants out from behind her pillow. “Buck—”

            “Now I fully intend to protect you with _everything_ I have. I’ll put myself _bodily_ in front of you if I have to. But that might not always be enough. So of course I’m worried. I’m…” He looked down. “I’m sorry if that bothers you. I love you. I can’t turn that off. I’m…trying not to be…overbearing about it. Epic fail.”

            She shook her head, smoothing her sleeping tee down over the leggings. “No, it’s not. It’s just…none of this is anyone’s fault, I just…”

            He sighed, coming to join her beside the bed. “Circumstances?”

            She nodded. “Yeah. Circumstances.” She raised her hands to smooth them down his chest. “When you gonna say ‘ _I told you so’_?” She shrugged again. “Come to think of it, I’m surprised Steve hasn’t said it yet. He protested really fucking loudly the morning of the raid.”

            He sighed again. “I know. He told me all about it.”

            She frowned. “ _When_?”

            “He stopped by when you were…unconscious. Was worried about you. Think he felt guilty for the way he treated you. He just…gets protective. I mean, more than me, which is saying something.” He smiled affectionately. “That’s always been a strong drive in him. Justice. Protection. He’s stuck somewhere between guilt that he didn’t try harder to keep you here and guilt that he assumed you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself. Which you _did_ , handle yourself, and very well. What happened to you was…”

            “HYDRA?”

            “I was going to say a bit of a fluke, but in our line of work, I’m not sure those exist…”

            She smirked.

            “Furthermore, I think he knows that if says that to you, when your own fiancé has no desire to, said fiancé will not hesitate to punch him in the mouth. He might be more my size now, but I can still beat him up.” He shrugged. “So, all in all, I think we’re all on solid ground.”

            She climbed into the bed and fluffed her pillow, smirking. “You two are something else.”

            He sighed, sliding loose the button on his jeans and slipping them off. “I grew up with the blockhead. I know how his head works.” He tugged his t-shirt off and went back to switch off the bathroom light. “So you’ve just been checking in the mirror every day to…what? See if you’re scar has changed or what? It’s likely not going to.”

            She grumbled. “Think I’ve seen too many vampire movies. I keep waiting for my eyes to glow or something.”

            He climbed in beside her and reached over to click off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, but for the modern, strangely romantic quality of the ambient light coming in from the skyscraper signs around them. “Nope. Can’t say that’s a perk.”

            “You won’t have to be as careful with me anymore…”

            “I’ll always be careful with you, Darce.” He curled his arms around her and pulled her up against his front.

            She cooed, nuzzling against his chest. “What if I don’t want you to be?”

            One hand drifted down her back and he hooked his fingers around the back of her knee and wrapped it around his hip. “I suppose we could _compromise_ …”

            “No fair. You’ve got less clothing to take off…” she complained teasingly, her fingers dipping along the hem of his boxers.

            He laughed, low in his throat. “Not a problem. I enjoy taking them off you.”

 

 

A month went by and no sign of any residual effects other than the softening scar on her belly. Bruce had stopped playing the waiting game and dropped back to a weekly update in his lab, a blood draw that always came back the same, and a one-on-one whenever he happened to pass her in the hall.

            Steve happened across her as well and apologized so many times she finally smacked him and told him to get a grip.

            He came over to watch a movie that night, curled up on their couch while Bucky was helping Tony with a project that required heavy lifting. Darcy suspected he was lonely. He and Bucky got along in a strange manner, and though she wasn’t sure she understood it, she was more than willing to encourage it. Time with Steve was like coming home during college to see her big brother, and she fell asleep across his lap, waking up to find that Bucky had replaced him, it was extremely late, his face was clearer than ever in the darkness of their living room, and the blanket one of them had tucked around her was so warm, she only snuggled in closer rather than moving to the bed.

            She and Natasha shared a drink, and it was nice, just talking to the spy one-on-one. Wanda was out on another solo mission and Maria was her back up. She was curious about the potential for tension on a trip like that, but couldn’t say she cared enough to wonder too hard about it.

            Bucky finally let up with his worry, and very hesitantly eased the leash he held on his fear.

            It wasn’t until later that she was able to bring herself to look straight in the eye the strange things she’d noticed _long_ beforehand.

            Her vision was clearer in the dark than it had been before, the blue of Bucky’s eyes a ridiculous midnight cerulean even when the room was dark as pitch.

            She nearly dropped her empty coffee cup in Tony’s lab once, while he stepped out for a part he’d left up in his suite, and lunged out to make an impossible catch that she had a sinking feeling she’d be able to replicate if she tried hard enough.

            She tossed and turned while even _Bucky_ slept, warm and close beside her in the bed, his big hand on her belly, his palm hot over her scar.

            The _sex_.

            She blushed.

            The sex was even more mind blowing than it had ever been before—which was _saying_ something. His hands and his mouth lit up every single nerve ending in her body _at once_ , and she had the strange, out-of-body sensation that she hadn’t known they all existed before.

            Her satisfaction had _doubled_ , and though her lover had commented on the particularly intense sensitivity of her body, he either hadn’t put two-and-two together or was trying hard not to mention it. She figured it was the latter. That, or of course, his experiences with the serum hadn’t included lovemaking; how could he possibly have any comparison?

            It was making her self-conscious—which was also something to get used to—because she’d always been particularly comfortable in chasing her own pleasure. When someone gave it to her so readily—and she accepted it just as equally so—she had to admit, she was struggling with just what to make of it.

            They’d always had _fantastic_ chemistry. He’d always been…particularly _talented_ at teasing a strong reaction from her, knew _exactly_ what to do with her body, and had done such a thorough job of learning her—like he’d made it a point to do so—that this was a shock. She’d been utterly _satisfied_ with him in her bed _before_. To say that he topped her short list of lovers was an understatement. Now… _this_ was something _else_. It took turns sending chills up her spine and drawing her so thoroughly out of her own head that she nearly blacked out, _twice_. She’d thought a reaction like that the stuff of trashy romance novels, but…there it was.

            And he was so...he was so sweet and tender and _thorough_ , and loose, and he was so good to her, and she knew—she _knew_ —that he was cherishing her and loving her just a little harder now, after having experienced what it felt like to nearly lose her, not that he’d ever taken her for granted.

            This wasn’t lost on her either, and sometimes she found herself staring into the middle distance of Tony’s lab, the knowledge that she had almost died on Bruce’s table sitting in the pit of her stomach like a stone. She errantly wondered what it felt like to flat line; after all, she’d apparently done so twice.

            The whole concept gave her the creeps.

            It was like a shadow looming over her shoulder, or a Grim following her around, and she experienced short sessions of shivers so bad she’d have to make an excuse and pace the halls outside of Tony’s lab for a few minutes before they finally stopped. Flashes of a cold so intense they made her knees buckle and she’d have to catch herself up on the wall.

            The panic attack was quiet but _rabid_ , and she curled in on herself in the corner of his shop during half his lunch run, trying to slow her breathing as she went over the steps she’d practiced with Bucky’s attacks in her head, her stomach churning.

            It was decidedly harder to do with yourself.

            She hadn’t mentioned this to anyone, and she knew Bucky would be _furious_ if he found out she’d deliberately hidden it from him. He really was like a mama bear, protective and feral when in defense of her.

            Denial.

            She was in denial.

            She was in denial of her own _denial_.

            She was mulling over how impossibly fast she’d just worked over the bare bones of Tony’s report in front of her when he spoke one afternoon a month later.

            “So you’ve got a clean bill of health, I hear from the Good Doctor,” he said, his voice muffled, his head under his desk so he could study his computer tower.

            She shrugged, worried about jinxing it and completely unconvinced, regardless of what Bruce had been saying to her, but nodded. “Guess so.”

            “This stupid thing keeps overheating. _Tony Stark, Genius Inventor_ , _cannot_ work like this.”

            She laughed. “So why doesn’t the genius inventor just build a better one?”

            He sat up to narrow his eyes at her. “Watch that mouth, Short Stack.”

            She giggled.

            He stood, rolling his eyes, and went over to his workstation, where Drone 13 was still propped, half rebuilt. “Why build a whole new one and waste time when I can just adapt the one I have?” He got his arms around the drone and lifted it to make room.

            Just then, the drone from hell sparked yet again, only this time, the sparks caught and shot up in a flame against Tony’s right shoulder, lighting his t-shirt on fire in short order.

            “Ah!” he gave a shout, lunging back, the drone clanking back down onto the counter, and he flapped at the flames with his left hand as they licked up his arm and quickly through the material of the shirt. “This damn foreign blend!”

            Darcy gasped, jumping up from her station to run over and assist, grabbing his t-shirt and pulling it off him, tearing it along the seam. “Tony, _goddamn_ it!” She threw the garment to the floor, leaving him in just his dark wash jeans and designer Nikes.

            They both stomped at the flaming garment until it was out, the tile slightly singed.

            Tony stared at her, breathless in the ensuing silence. “Thanks, Short Stack.”

            She shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh, grabbing at his shoulder, the musculature marred by the angry, raw burn already opening over his skin. “JARVIS, could you get Bruce down here?”

            “ _Right away, Miss Lewis. As a point of inquiry on the subject of your surname, is there an intention of altering the name of Lewis, given your recent betrothal to Sergeant Barnes_?”

            Tony grinned like a jerk.

            She sighed again, scowling at him. “You know, he _really_ hates that you call him that, J.”

            “ _Indeed, Miss Lewis? Is it not his title_?”

            She snorted. “Not since 1944 it ain’t. The War’s a bit…touchy…if you catch get my drift.”

            “ _He is no longer a member of the Armed Forces? Government records state otherwise_.”

            She blew a loose strand of hair from her face. “I-I know. It’s just…it’s just a matter of pension. He’s got a _shit_ _ton_ of back pay from the Howling Commandos. But…he’s not a military man anymore. I know the protocol, but can you just…call him something else? That whole thing is a big, giant ball of…” She sighed, frustrated. “Just, call him something else. _Sergeant_ hits a little too close to home, okay, JARVIS?”

            There was a moment of silence while JARVIS considered this. “ _As you wish, Miss Lewis_.”

            “Don’t forget your last name, there, Short Stack,” Tony supplied, his face twisted into a look of mischievousness.

            She frowned at him, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Put your initial inquiry on hold, JARVIS. The matter is still…up in the air.”

            “Oh, _really_? The Tin Man’s unconventional, huh?” Tony quipped.

            “Big words from _Mr. Pepper Potts_ ,” she shot back.

            “ _Of course, Miss Lewis. Furthermore, Dr. Banner has been dispatched, as per your request._ ”

            “Tha—”

            “I…don’t think we’re gonna _need_ him…Darce…”

            She looked down, worried at Tony’s sudden shift in tone, and gasped, taking a rapid step back from her boss.

            They both stared, first at each other, then down at his shoulder.

            Where the flesh there had been a sizable patch of raw skin and bleeding, weeping flesh, it was now knit and red, angry but much less furious than its initial appearance.

            _Healing_.

_As they watched_.

            She looked down at her hands to find them red and raw, chapped and angry, like she’d gone the whole winter without lotion and washed them until she’d peeled off all the skin.

            Like they’d been severely… _burned_. She gasped again as the stinging pain occurred to her belatedly.

            “ _Darce_ —”

            Before he could finish or Bruce could arrive, she ditched it out of the shop, careening down the hall and to the elevator, slamming the heel of her hand against the call button.

            She grimaced as pain radiated through her palm, stinging—

            Like a _burn_.

            The elevator chimed and the down arrow lit up, indicating Bruce about to depart.

            Heart hammering in her chest, hard, too hard to be natural, she skidded down the hall and to the stairwell, throwing herself against the push bar and flying up two flights before she thought she’d be safe.

            She darted out into the hall and down, dodging suits and secretaries as they eyed her with confused curiosity, and had she been more aware, she’d have wondered if they knew her as that strange girl, the loudmouthed _slut_ they’d heard about who kept the Winter Soldier’s libido properly fed in order to keep him from _blowing up the building_.

            _Sleeping in the lion’s den_.

            She hit the personnel elevator call button _with her wrist this time_ and waited—toe tapping feverishly—as the lift drew up to meet her.

            Finally, she was safe in their apartment, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft, unnatural click and she went over to the windows, letting the midday sunlight slip over her hands.

            They were red and swollen, chapped, like she’d grabbed a hot skillet with both hands and held on tight until her flesh had begun to cook to it.

            Like she’d taken Tony’s burn onto herself as she’d… _healed him_.

            Tears welled in her eyes.

            The door swung open. “Are you alright?” Bucky asked, not bothering to beat it around the bush as he shut the door. “Tony and JARVIS told me you ran off, but they didn’t say why. Figured you’d come here.”

            She looked up at him, her tears shivering on her lashes, before one of them slipped over the edge and ran down her cheek. “ _Jamie_ …” she whispered.

            His face full of concern, he crossed to her. “What is it—what?” His voice was soft, even in his clear confusion and panic. “ _What_ , baby?”

            She took a ragged, hitching breath in and held out her hands.

            He stared down at them.

            “Tony…” she rasped. “He burned himself. I—I—I grabbed his shoulder and—” She was falling apart; she knew she was, but she couldn’t find it in her to pick up the rapidly scattering pieces.

            Eyes wide, he carefully took up her wrists and lifted them to get a better look. One hand slid along her back and she could tell he was counting out her rapid heartbeats, which still hadn’t slowed. Then he pressed his fingers to her throat and scowled, a harsh look on his usually soft face. “Shit,” he whispered.

            “ _Doctor Banner is requesting entry, Miss Lewis, Mr. Barnes. Shall I let him in_?” JARVIS offered.

            They looked at each other and Bucky made a decision. “No.”

            She took in another shaking breath, staring at him.

            “C’mon, love.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her along with him to the bathroom.

            “I—I—all I did was grab his _shoulder_ —the _drone_ —that stupid, _fucking_ drone—it sparked and started on _fire_ and I had to tear off his t-shirt—and his _shoulder_ —it was _raw_ —like _Third Degree_ raw—and we were waiting for Bruce—and—”

            “Sshhhh…” he hushed her softly. “Just relax. You’re babbling, sweetheart.”

            “All I did—all I did was grab his—his _shoulder_ —I wasn’t even—wasn’t even _trying_ to—”

            “Just calm down,” he soothed. “Take a deep breath. You’re alright…” His voice was soft and low, husky and careful.

            She was gasping now, hiccupping, tears streaming down her face at her panic and the awful pain in her hands, and she felt like a little kid again, having fallen at the zoo and scraped her knee, crying at the raspberry there while her father complained that she was a clutz. “All I did was grab—his shoulder…”

            “Take a deep breath, baby…I’ve got you.”

            He set her down on the toilet seat and went over to the tub, starting the cold water lever and holding his flesh hand under the spray to test the temperature.

            “ _Apologies, Mr. Barnes, but Doctor Banner is insisting_ ,” JARVIS intoned again, sounding concerned and uncertain.

            “ _No one overrides that door, JARVIS_ ,” Bucky insisted, his tone hard and defensive.

            Mama Bear.

            She hiccupped another breath and wheezed with the effort of calming herself, her brain screaming in denial as her hands throbbed. “Oh, God… _Shit_ , it’s hurts.”

            “Yeah, burns are a bitch,” he murmured. “Just hold on for a few more minutes, okay, sweetheart?”

            Tony’s voice interrupted, hard and worried. “ _What the fuck’s going on in there, guys?!_ ” he practically snarled through the override.

            Darcy winced.

            “Everyone’s alive, Stark.”

            “ _Let Bruce in_.”

            “ _I’ve got it_.”

            “Barnes, I _swear_ to God—”

            “Just give us a _goddamn_ _minute_ , Tony!” he snapped.

            Silence.

            “You’ve got _ten_. Then that door’s opening.”

            He rolled his eyes and stood, moving toward the door. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

            She jumped, shaking her head. “No—”

            “I’m just going to the freezer, that’s all,” he assured her and left. Sure enough, he returned a moment later with the ice cube tray, which he overturned, twisted, and dumped the contents of into the rapidly filling tub. He tossed the tray down on the counter. “Okay. C’mon.” He took up her elbow and led her over, sitting her on the edge so she could lean and stick her hands in the water. “This is better than the sink; it’s a less cramped area.”

            Her tears had largely stopped and the water was cooling and soothing on her hands. He didn’t ask her to speak anymore; he just sat beside her, his metal hand on her back, soothing a slow line up, then back down, then back up. “You’re alright,” he murmured. “It’s gonna be alright.”

            She nodded, sniffling.

            “Was this what Tony’s burn looked like?” he asked, his voice quiet.

            She nodded.

            “How do you feel? Okay aside from that?”

            She shook her head. “My _heart_ …”

            His hand ran up her back again. “Your heart’s slowed a bit. Still rapid. About a hundred BPM, like mine.”

            Oh, _God_ , she’d had no idea it was that high all the time. That was on the knife-edge of medical tachycardia. He walked around like that _all the time_?!

            “Does it hurt? Your heart?” He rubbed his hand along her back, rapid and smooth.

            She nodded, but said no more. “You should open the door and let Bruce in,” she said finally, her voice low and timid.

            He shook his head. “Not until we’re done in here.”

            She looked up at him. “We’re _not_?”

            Again, he shook his head. “I’m not confident that you’re standing on solid ground yet.”

            She shivered and hoped she wasn’t having another episode. “And how do you judge that?”

            He gave her an affectionate smirk and ran his metal fingers through her hair. “I know you. Your face tells me no.”

            She hiccupped. “The hidden truth: the Winter Soldier is really just a mama bear with her cubs.”

            He laughed, his voice low and husky. “Anything for you.”

            She flushed. “You take care of me,” she said again, her voice low.

            “What else would I do?”

            She shrugged. “I think most guys nowadays would treat this like their girlfriend’s period: _decidedly_ hands-off. And _tears_? Please. A crying girl is a huge red ‘ _STOP’_ sign.”

            He laughed again. “Well. I think it’s been well-established that I’m not most guys.”

            She sniffled again. “What’s happening to me?”

            He sighed, long and deep. “I think the serum has…declared itself.”

            She sighed, sitting back on her heels. “I was right: I’m a _mutant_.”

            He smiled softly, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face. “I don’t think any of the X-Men have the power to heal someone—then again, Stevie’s the one that likes the movies. I was too busy chasing skirt, so I hear.” He winked at her.

            She rolled her eyes, but her throat worked again, cramping. “I’m a _science project_.”

            “Then we’re a pretty good pair, don’t you think?”

            She sniffled again, biting her lip and tipping over into him to implore him to hold her.

            He complied, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out, alright?”

            She buried her face in his shoulder. “How?”             He pressed his mouth to the crown of her head. “I don’t know. But we will.”

            “ _’We’_?”

            He squeezed her again. “I’m not going anywhere, remember? I’d be a pretty awful wannabe husband if I ditched it at the first sign of trouble, wouldn’t I?”

            She nuzzled against him. “Wouldn’t blame you.”

            “ _Hey_.” He nudged her shoulder. “This is _nothing_ I can’t handle, baby doll.”

            “Uncharted territory.”

            He snorted. “ _My whole life_ has been uncharted territory, Darce.” He ran his hand down her back. “You stood by me when few others were willing to. Now it’s my turn.”

            She nodded, her chest tight, like a vacuum had taken up residence in her chest.

            His voice was so soft. “I love you. I’m here.”

            She buried her face deeper into the hollow of his shoulder, sighing and slumping against him when he tightened his embrace further. “I have a confession.”

            “Oh?”

            She sniffled. “You’ll be mad.”

            “I doubt it. But go ahead.”

            She swallowed. “No, you _will_. You’ll be mad at me.”

            He sighed. “Well, then how about you let _me_ start?”

            She ducked her head nearer his heart.

            “If you think I haven’t been expecting a panic attack or two, you’re a goofball. And if you think I haven’t noticed you’ve been decidedly restless at night, you’re fooling yourself. And if you think I missed you correct that _epic_ fumble with your wine glass the other day, or the fact that you were reading in light that low, or the fact that you can orgasm when I’m barely _touching_ you… “ He let it trail off. “C’mon, Darce.”

            She slumped. “You noticed _all that_?” Her face was flaming, she could tell, and she was glad it was hidden against his chest. Ordinarily, something like that would be _exciting_ in the bedroom. This just…embarrassed her.

            His hand slid up her back. “I’ve learned you well. I’ve made it a project, like lovers are _supposed_ to do. We’ve always been extremely compatible in bed, sweetie, but that’s…that’s _ridiculous_. I didn’t want to muddy the waters. I wanted you to come to me.”

            She sighed, pressing her face tighter, as though she could hide further. “I’m sorry.”

            “For what? Almost dying? Coming back to life? Not knowing what the _fuck_ to do now that you barely recognize your _own_ _body_?”

            She sank her hands deeper into the water. “I didn’t tell you.”

            He sighed. “Darcy…this is…this is beyond normal. There’s going to be a _huge_ adjustment period. Especially with these changes trickling in. With me, I was well and done by now, it was pretty immediate. The suffering ended, Steve got me out, I fell, they recovered me, did some tinkering, and the tasks came at a rapid pace and I was put into use. This is different. We have _no idea_ what to expect, we have _no_ idea how it’ll be with you. Everyone’s different, and like I said, there isn’t any consistent precedent for this. This…is apparently how you’ve…reacted.”

            She snorted. “The ability to take peoples’ injuries into myself, read in the dark, and have an orgasm at will?”

            He laughed softly. “All that other stuff is just peripheral. I think we should focus on the whole, ‘ _you healed Tony’_ thing. Besides, it could be worse. You could be a cold-blooded killer.”

            His tone was flippant, and she froze, then wilted in his arms. “God _damn_ it. I’m sorry, Jamie.”

            He ran his hands down her back. “Darcy, _stop apologizing_. I’m serious. Things could be a lot worse.”

            “You’re not cold-blooded.”

            “I sure as hell _was_. How else could I hang out on top of sedans on freeway overpasses and pull steering wheels out of said sedans just willy-nilly?”

            She sighed. “That wasn’t your choice.”

            “We’re getting off topic. _Darcy_.” He gripped her shoulders and pushed her back so they were face-to-face. “You’re not turning into a freak and you’re not alone. We will figure this out _together_. You’re gonna have to try harder to get rid of me, okay? I spent a lot of money on that ring, money I _wanted_ to spend—in guy language that means I’m in it for the long haul and with no reservations. Okay?”

            Biting her lip, she nodded.

            “You’re not alone. You’re not going to _be_ alone. I’m here, _I’m here with you_ , and I’m not going _anywhere_.” He cupped her face and brought it up close so he was staring into her eyes. “Your fiancé is only using a quarter of his strength on a daily basis, and that leaves a _lot_ left over for the bad guys, _do_ you hear me? I would tear down the _fucking_ world for you.”

            His eyes were so intense that she was snared, unable to look away.

            “I will mow down anyone in my path to keep you safe. Anyone who even _attempts_ to lay a malicious finger on you dies a quick death. Am I making myself clear?”

            She nodded.

            “ _All_ the awful agony I endured to get to this moment— _all of it_ —was worth it, just to _have_ this moment and _no one_ gets to take that from either of us. Got it?”

            Eyes wide at what this declaration meant, she nodded. “I love you,” she whispered.

            He wrapped her in his arms again. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll _make sure it is_ , okay?”

            Finally, he gave JARVIS the okay, and Tony barreled into the apartment, finding them wrapped up on the floor, his eyes wide as he studied her hands, carefully dried with a soft towel and ready for Bruce. “Holy shit, Short Stack.” He tugged the collar of his new t-shirt down and stared at what was left his burn—just a red patch of irritated skin, like he’d scratched too hard at an itch. “Darcy…it was just a burn. I would’ve been fine, kid…” He sounded sad as he took in her tear-stained face.

            “I love ya, Boss Man, but I didn’t _mean_ to do it.”

            Bruce brushed his way past. “I need a blood sample— _now_ , while the effect might still be fresh. I want to keep a close eye on her white blood cell count. If she’s expending energy in the process, her systems will be at a disadvantage. You want to come down to—”

            “You can come and go, but we’re staying here, doc,” Bucky smoothly cut in, his expression regretful but brooking no further argument. “She’s staying up here.”

            “It’s fine,” Darcy murmured, swallowing, even though she felt a general pull to keep as near to him as possible. She’d always—from the very _beginning_ —found his presence strangely soothing. He was so…he was so quiet and even keeled, even though he insisted he really wasn’t.

            Tony winced.

            “ _No_ , Darce. You’re gonna _stay up here_.” He studied her face. “Ground’s uneven.” He winked so she knew he was referring to her not standing on a solid surface.

            “I agree,” Tony said, looking up at Bruce.

            Bruce, looking sad, but satisfied, nodded. “Then I’ll be right back.” He disappeared.

            Tony sat down on the toilet seat. “You guys mind if I…stick around?”

            Darcy shrugged.

            “Anything I can do, Short Stack?”

            “Go back in time and tell my stupid ass not to stand so close to the creepy computer?” she offered.

            Bucky smoothed a hand down her long hair.

            Tony snorted. “Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ll go back a little further and help Steve hang onto this one so he doesn’t go catapulting into the Alps, eh?” He gestured at Bucky.

            But he was shaking his head as he looked down at Darcy. “No,” he said, his voice soft and contemplative. “No. Leave that. That can stay.”

            Tony, eyes narrowed as he studied them, nodded as though in understanding.

            All of that— _all of it_ —had led, in an _awful_ , roundabout way, to him being here.

            She burrowed closer to him and pressed her face against his arm, inhaling the clean, super subtle sweetness of his aftershave. It clung to him and his clothes and though she’d always hated cologne, this she couldn’t get enough of. It always calmed her. Just another signal that she was with the right person, she figured.

            Bruce took two vials of her blood while Bucky held her shaking arm still for him and she winced as he put a salve all over her hands and carefully wrapped them in what seemed like yards and yards of gauze. “I’ll let you guys know about the results of the blood panel I’m going to run, okay?”

            Tony left to give him an extra pair of hands.

            Pepper patched in to ask if they needed anything, and insisted on running to the deli down the block personally to get them something quick to eat.

            At four in the morning, she lurched awake, though, alarmed at the sensation in her hands, and desperate to rip her bandages off.

            He staggered to stop her but, groggy, he was too slow to stop her from ripping the wrappings off—

            Revealing red, but healed flesh beneath.

           


	11. Final Jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a knockdown-drag out, a grandma, and a gaggle of children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, folks--we're almost there. Second to last chapter. This one's got some angsty stuff, so brace yourself. It's also got a scene at the end that I just couldn't resist doing. It came to me one afternoon, and it just really begged to be written, so I hope it's got the desired affect and didn't turn out too...what's the word? Cheesy?
> 
> Anyhoo...let me know how you like, because those comments are seriously helpful, even if I'm too lost in my writing to get replies to you all in orderly fashion. I really hope you guys like this--let me know if you want more, because I'm...sorta already working on the next installment. Is that good or bad?

The next morning, when they met Bruce down in the lab, he was manic with excitement. “This is _incredible_ , you guys! I’ve never seen anything like it before!”

            Tony traipsed in, looking exhausted, as though he hadn’t slept. He squeezed her hand as he sat down on her left, toying with her ring. Bucky had slipped it back onto her finger that morning, down on his knees again like a gentleman, and she’d giggled at the absolute ridiculousness. “What’s up with Short Stack? She grow a super power?”

            Bruce grinned, hitting buttons on his little remote. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” The projector in the ceiling displayed a slide, what was clearly an image of her blood, tiny cells visible, rushing to and fro. “So, let’s start from the top. I took a sample of her blood just after she woke up—after the raid. See how the white blood cells are packed in tight? They were in overabundance—her immune system was boosted by the serum and rushed the site of her injury, healing her at a superhuman rate.”

            Bucky slipped his arm around her waist, drawing her nearer to him.

            Tony refused to relinquish her hand and she squeezed back.

            Bruce judged his glasses back up his nose. “Now, there are different types of white blood cells. Basophils, Neutrophils, etcetera. We could go on and on. Basophils draw around connective tissue, aren’t very common, and are only drawn out into the blood stream on rare occasions. But see, here?” He pulled up another slide and gestured with his laser pointer. “Darcy’s are all over the place! I’ve never _seen_ this many on one slide before! They’re rare; they make up the smallest number in the stream at any one time! But they’re just _massing_ here in her blood! It’s like their population exploded!”

            Bucky sighed.

            “ _This_ slide—it’s from the draw you took yesterday?” Tony asked.

            Bruce nodded. “Yes. _Incredible_ , isn’t it?!” He was grinning so widely and looked so enthusiastic, Darcy’s heart hurt.

            “And look—here. _Neutrophils_! Now, these are the _most_ abundant type in the blood stream, they envelop bacteria and other invasive bodies in order to facilitate healing and immune defense, but they only have a lifespan of about two to three days. I’ve never seen this many of _these_ on a single slide either.”

            “So what does this mean, Brucie?” Tony sighed, looking like he was ready to pass out.

            Darcy had a feeling he’d been up half the night worrying about her and feeling guilty for just grabbing that damn drone without thinking.

            “The serum raised your body’s defenses so high that it’s turnaround is like nothing else in medical history, Darcy! Your body is so _full_ of this stuff that it doesn’t know what to do with it all. That’s how you were able to take the wound off of Tony and how you were able to heal it yourself in such a short span of time! Your bone marrow and stem cells are turning these out faster than your body can _use_ them!”

            Bucky sighed again. “So she’s a walking first aid kit?”

            Bruce gestured emphatically. “ _Yes_! Essentially. Not, of course, that that should be used—or taken—lightly.” He paused, his face calming. “This might have strange side-effects. You might be less tired, more willing to go, go, go. You might pick up other things—some of those things might just be the serum itself enhancing you in other areas, or it may be related to this ability. There’s no way to tell, really. You might respond better to stimuli. Have you noticed any other side effects of the serum so far?”

            She felt the flush heat her cheeks and shook her head in what she was sure was a pointless exercise. Stimuli. Right. At least _that_ made sense now…“Um. No.”

            Bucky’s arm squeezed.

            Tony eyed her.

            But Bruce took it and ran, too distracted by the news. “Darcy. I don’t think I need to tell you how amazing this is. If you’ll _allow_ me—and only _if_ you’ll allow me—I’d like to take a little more blood. If I could find some way to utilize this effect, we might be able to keep everyone on the team safe, if we could take something like that in the _field_?! Can you _imagine_?! _Everyone_ could be safe from intense harm—at least temporarily, until we could get them back here!”

            Bucky’s arm tensed.

            “I mean, Darcy! Do you _understand_ what your blood is _capable_ of?! It’s a medical breakthrough! Healing on _command_! I can’t even stress enough what this could do!”

            She flinched, though, her heart sinking like a stone.

            It was relatively good news. She could help the team in a way other than record-keeping and hacking. She could be a real member, if unofficial and on-call only.

            Then why didn’t she _feel_ good about it?

            She laid awake that night, listening to Bucky’s soft, even breathing beside her, and tried to puzzle it out.

            The ability to heal at a rapid rate and use that to heal others as well.

            Cool. _Unbelievably_ cool.

            She was _alive_. She _hadn’t died_.

            She could help people, she could help the _team_. Hadn’t she been wanting to do that, to do more? Hadn’t she been _wanting_ to let her life finally settle around her, the choices she’d finally made to wrap around her and calm all the rough edges?

            To finally marry him, after what felt like an eternity? God, it felt like he’d asked her, down on his knees, so, _so_ long ago…There was an entire lifetime between then and now, this moment, here with him, asleep and peaceful beside her. Such a rarity: him at peace.

            She’d never thought too hard about actually being someone’s wife before, but with him, and after what Tony had said…it felt…natural. And normal. And the figurative next step.

            The ability to…

            Bruce’s words drifted through her head again _. I can’t even stress enough what this could do!_

_People will be after you._ Bucky’s words, too.

            They would. She knew. It would get out. Sooner or later, something like this would leak and all the…bad guys, all the evil, comic book villains would know what she could do.

            She turned her head to look at him. He was lying on his belly, his head facing away, and the strong line of his naked back was a beautiful curve against the covers.

            She bit her lip. There was no way she could subject him to that. He’d been through _more_ than enough suffering—more than enough to last _one_ lifetime, let alone two, or three—or _four_. To leave him vulnerable to going through another round of the same, exact thing—and just when he’d escaped it—would be so unbelievably selfish, she would never be able to forgive herself.

            He’d come along, he’d run with her, if the need arose, he’d run with her and never look back, he wouldn’t hesitate for a moment. He was so old-fashioned, so loyal. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth, she _knew_.

            And it broke her heart.

            _I would tear down the_ fucking _world for you._

            She swallowed down the tears burning their way up her throat and looked away, up at the ceiling.

            They’d come for her; someone would, someday.

            And he’d be just as cornered as she would; cornered _again_ , in a life already so filled with noise and unrest, and she couldn’t ask him to do that, she’d never be able to look past it.

            The fact that he’d _insist_ had the power to break her in half.

            She couldn’t be that _selfish_. She couldn’t allow _him_ to be that self _less_.

            She couldn’t.

           

           

            Life, ultimately, continued at a languid pace, and Bruce came and went almost as often as Tony. Darcy was embarrassed that she seemed to have gained half a father, but Bucky thought it was adorable, the way he fawned over her while she floundered half the time, totally unsure how to handle it. But she was slowly acclimating to what had happened to her, accepting that she’d almost died, that she was different now— _new_ —and while she was still figuring out how to handle it, she was doing…okay. Bucky slowly went back to SHIELD life, taking short assignments here, recon missions there. Sparring sessions with her would have to wait until Bruce had a better understanding of her healing rate, though. He was leery of her being hurt again.

            He came back after one assignment to find some little changes that he didn’t remember having decided on, not that he minded. It was her apartment, too, as far as he was concerned. He’d kept the suite a bit Spartan, he knew, and he figured it was probably all thanks to the army. That, or the Winter Soldier didn’t like framed art. One of the two.

            But beside his photograph of her sunflowers hung an enlarged picture of the two of them. She’d dragged him to the museum and insisted they take a photo right in front of the huge T-Rex in the dinosaur hall. She was grinning mischievously while he looked like his old, grumpy self, a little chink of bemusement in his gaze as he looked at her, a cheeky smirk curling the corner of his mouth. At first, looking at it later, at lunch, she’d whined that he hadn’t been smiling very much, but later, after she’d forgotten about it and found it anew on her phone she’d gone all melt-y at his expression, paired with the fact that he was looking at _her_ instead of the lens.

            Little did she know what he’d been thinking in that moment—that he wanted to press her recklessly against the wall and lick a stripe up her throat, bite down on her earlobe and listen to her broken moan in his ear. The thought had come out of left field, and it had been so long since he’d wanted a woman that the return of his latent desire had hit him like a punch to the gut. But that had been just after Tony’s wedding, and they hadn’t technically been an item yet. Just suggestive flirting and shy maneuvering. He hadn’t been quite sure how to get a handle on what he wanted vs. what he was still wondering if he was _capable_ of wanting.

            Beside the shot of them in the lab that he’d had in the center of the coffee table was that God-awful shot of him in his uniform from nineteen-forty-something, complete with crooked cap. Ugh. God, he hated that picture. He looked like such an ass. “Darce?” he called.

            She came down the hall with a wan smile and came to greet him. “Hey.” She got up on her toes. “Welcome home.”

            But when he dipped to kiss her she smoothly evaded him and set a warm kiss to his cheek instead.

            Frowning, he wrapped his metal arm around her so she’d be locked in place. “What’s wrong? You’re awfully subdued. Who died?”

            She flushed. “No one, you jerk.”

            He smirked.

            She ducked back from him, tucking her chin.

            His frown deepened. “What’s up?”

            “Nothing.”

            Acting on instinct, he reached up before she could anticipate him and tugged at her collar, pulling it down to reveal the short, jagged gash on her shoulder, clearly healing, but still slightly raw and harsh.

            She flushed again. “I was practicing with one of the Gerber knives you left home,” she admitted, her voice low.

            The frown slid into a scowl. How on earth she’d managed to injure her _shoulder_ practicing with a _knife_ was beyond him, but he let that part go. “Why?”

            She shrugged, trying to pull back from him, and frowning when he didn’t let her budge. “Because.”

            He sighed. “Darcy. I keep those ungodly sharp. I thought we’d agreed that you’d only train with me—or Nat?”

            She nodded, swallowing. “I know. But I wanted to get a jump. And Nat and Steve went back to their place. And you were out with Clint. How’d it go?”

            He shrugged. Clint was easy to work with. Didn’t ask prying questions, didn’t judge, seemed to quietly understand his need to keep in his own headspace about who he’d been versus who he was. And he had a good, dry sense of humor. They made a good team, probably better than him and Steve. Steve liked to open up about things, and Buck wasn’t so good at that. Clint, on the other hand, was no-nonsense and into keeping things light while they got their mission done. “Standard recon mission. Off without a hitch.” He gestured at the wound again. “Bruce take a look at it?”

            She shook her head, looking away.

            “Why _not_?” he asked, hearing the scolding in his own tone.

            She shrugged. “Not like he needs to.”

            Evasive. Quiet. Defensive. Feeling the battle coming, he loosened his grip and let her go. “Darce. What’s wrong?”

            She ducked out of the loop of his arm and toward the window. “Nothing, really. Just wanted to keep up with my training and get back to it while you were gone, that’s all.”

            “What was so important that it couldn’t wait for a two-day gallivant off to the Riviera Maya to check out a creepy dude trafficking Chitauri blades?”

            “ _Is_ he?”

            He noted that she easily evaded his question. “Yes. Darcy…”

            Abruptly, she turned, her fingers working as they twisted in her nervousness. “I was thinking…that I should give this back to you.” Her voice was low and ragged.

            She held out her ring.

            He blinked down at it, then up at her.

            She wasn’t looking at him, but down, focusing hard on the jewelry in her shaking palm.

            “Darce—”

            “Take it.”

            Swallowing, he took a step back, refusing to touch it. “What are you doing?”

            She took a deep breath. “Giving this back to you.”

            “Yeah, I see that. Why?”

            She shrugged. “Because I am.”

            He shook his head. “That’s not an answer. _Why_?”

            “ _Because_. It’s only a matter of time.”

            He narrowed his eyes. “You’re making this about your mother, aren’t you?”

            She rolled her eyes. “No.”

            “ _Yes_. Only a matter of time until _what_? I walk out on you?”

            “ _No_ ,” she insisted. “Only a matter of time until this doesn’t work anymore.”

            He dumped his bag on the couch and crossed his arms over his chest. “Until _what_ doesn’t work?”

            She rolled her eyes again. “ _Us_.” Like it was obvious.

            He shrugged, flippant. “Oh, of _course_. Why didn’t _I_ think of that? What about _us_ isn’t working? I _personally_ thought we were getting married—now you’re giving me a very expensive ring back that you suddenly _hate_?” The words were like ash on his tongue, but his heart refused to soften—he wasn’t sure what this was yet, but denial was burning a hole in his stomach.

            Shock. It was shock.

            “I don’t _hate_ it. I just don’t _want_ it. _Take_ it.”

            He narrowed his eyes again. “And _why_ don’t you want it? You wanted it last week.”

            “I just _don’t_ ,” she insisted, her tone sharpening. “ _Take_ it.”

            “No.”

            “ _Take. It_.”

            “ _No_.”

            “ _Why not_?!”

            “ _Why the fuck should I_?!”

            She flinched.

            He rarely raised his voice.

            “ _’Because I don’t want it_ ’ isn’t what I would consider a viable answer. I want a _real_ one. I think I _deserve_ one. It’s been a year since we met, I think I’ve _earned_ it.” His throat was closing; he had to stop that in its tracks. He swallowed the cramp down, hard.

            “ _Because I don’t want to drag you down with me_ ,” she ground out, her teeth clenched, like it hurt. Maybe it did.

            He blinked. “And where are you being dragged?”

            She huffed out an impatient sigh, like this was the last conversation she wanted to be having. “You said it yourself: people will come for me.”

            Bucky was sure it was definitely the last conversation that _he_ wanted to be having. “ _And_? What difference does that make?”

            She turned around again to face the window, silent.

            He took a step toward her. “I didn’t ask you to marry me so you could push me away.”

            Her shoulders tensed.

            “And I didn’t stick around in all this just because I wanted some tail.”

            They rose higher.

            “And I _sure as hell_ didn’t stand by you only because _you_ stood by _me_. You were the only person who truly did, and I chose to stand by you because I _wanted_ to. Because I _love_ you. If you think I was doing it out of obligation, you should think again, dollface. I ain’t that selfless.”

            She tapped her foot impatiently. “You said you’d tear down the world for me.” She sounded broken.

            He pulled a hand through his hair. “And I would.”

            “ _Why_?”

            He snorted. “I just said it: _because I love you_. So I keep you safe. I’d do _anything_ to do that, to keep you safe, with no thought to the consequences. That’s what love is.”

            She spun around, and her face was hard, her eyes icy with unshed tears. “And _that’s_ why I’m giving it back to you. Because I can’t have you doing that. I can’t ask you to do that. I can’t ask you to run with me, I can’t ask you to damn yourself if something like that happens. You’ve already done _so much_ for me, and you’ve _suffered_ so much— _too much_ for one person, for one _lifetime_ , and I can’t keep doing this with you knowing that you might have to do more.”

            He sighed, staring at her, the surreal quality of their conversation swimming around him. “You didn’t ask. I _offered_.”

            She shook her head. “Well, you shouldn’t _have_ to. And I can _choose_ not to accept. Because if I had to run, if I had to interrupt my life, I would _never_ be able to forgive myself that you would interrupt yours, that you would put yourself in harm’s way, that you would have to suffer _again_ —for _me_. Just when you’ve escaped them, I couldn’t bear the thought of them taking you again—or someone else getting their hands on you. I can’t do it. _I won’t do it_. I love you too much.”

            He took a calculated step closer. “I’d do _anything_ for you.”

            “ _That’s the problem_!” she wailed, her façade finally cracking. “That’s the problem. I’m…I’m _different_ now. And I can _feel_ it coming, I can feel this all shaking loose. And when the storm hits, you _can’t come with me_. You have to stay here, where it’s _safe_.”

            Anger bubbled in him again. “I’ve never backed down from a fight, doll. Not in _all_ my life. _I won’t do it now_. You do know that I’m probably more stubborn than you, right? And that’s saying something. You know I’d be after you as soon as you left, right?”

            She rolled her eyes.

            This reaction lit a bit of a fire. “What happened to making my own choices, hm?” he snapped. “What happened to not feeling guilty anymore, what happened to doing what I _chose_ to do? I _chose_ to ask you to marry me. That meant I had _chosen_ to spend my life with you—just like you _chose_ to say yes. You remember when you told me that? You _chose_ to say yes. I took back control of my life that day on the shore of the Potomac, and _no one_ gets to make up my mind for me anymore— _not even you,_ ” he snarled. “I love you, but _you don’t get to take control of my life—or my decisions—and damn it hell if you think you’re going to try_!”

            She flinched.

            “You said we were a team—you _remember_ that? You said you wanted to fight for me, because I’d fought for you. _When_? When have I had the _opportunity_ to fight for you? Hm? I won you, fair and square, and you _gave_ yourself to me. You made the decision to stand by me when few others would, but I don’t recall doing much fighting. Now, if we’re a team, then we’re a team, but teams work by majority vote—decisions don’t just get made by one _mulish_ person.” He snarled again, eyeing her hard. “So either we’re a team or we’re _not_. But that’s _your_ decision, sweetheart—not _mine_.” He snatched up his gloves again, and his jacket from the bar stool where he’d hung it. “You better decide, quick. Because that ring? I ain’t takin’ it back, whether you want it not.”

            And he slammed the door behind him.

 

           

            There was a gentle little rap on the door.

“What?” she rasped.

            “ _It is Mr. Stark, Miss Lewis_ ,” JARVIS provided, his voice low and unobtrusive.

            She unfolded herself and went to open it, shuffling across the living room with zero energy, unsure she’d really moved until Tony stood before her in the hall.

            “Wanna talk about it?” he asked, his face open but distant, not giving an inkling.

            “No,” she said flatly, turning away and leaving him standing in the hall as she threw herself down in the chair facing the bank of windows.

            “Alright.” Tony came in, shut the door, and threw himself down on the couch, the very spot he’d just vacated a few hours before. He’d taken to hanging around to keep an eye on her when Bucky was out on jobs. He figured it probably annoyed her to some degree, but she never complained and it made him feel better, so he figured what the hell… “So, _don’t_ talk then. Just listen.”

            “Tony—” she started.

            “Thought you didn’t wanna talk?” he countered.

            She scowled at the view.

            “That was a pretty good first shouting match, you got good volume.”

            She sighed. “I—”

            “Privacy protocols were shut off. Remember? JARVIS and Bruce been keeping an eye on you?”

            She slumped. “So _everyone_ heard that?”

            He smirked, but there was no humor in it and it looked more like a grimace. “Nah. Bruce is too far down, Spangles and Nat are across town, and Clint’s out with Laura. I, uh, ran upstairs for a part and heard most of it, I think.” He winced. “Good thing Pep’s down in PR or she’d have been up here, ready to pull you two apart.”

            “He didn’t lay a hand on me.”

            “Oh, I _know_ he wouldn’t do that. _You_ , uh…sounded like you laid a few things on him, though.”

            She rolled her eyes and pushed herself deeper down in the chair and folded her arms childishly across her chest.

            “First one’s always the hardest, feels like the world’s collapsing,” he mused, settling back against the cushions. “But, uh…you know you’re…being kind of neurotic, right?” he continued, wincing in anticipation.

            She shook her head at the window, frowning.

            “You’re uncomfortable with him lookin’ out for you. Makes you feel guilty that it might put him back in the crosshairs.”

            “What are you, a _shrink_?” she snapped. “Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist, _Honorary Psychologist_?”

            He shrugged. “Eh, just telling you what I know, kid.”

            “ _Why_?”

            “Because, I know what it’s like to push someone away, Darcy, and if you’re not a _stupid_ _kid_ —which I know you’re _not_ —you’ll _listen_ to me.” He crossed his arms. “Let’s just start with that ring. I mean, that’s really Exhibit A, right?”

            She ground her teeth, but wouldn’t look at him, trying not to think about Bucky’s comment all that time ago that in guy speak, it meant she was stuck with him.

            “I’m a guy. So as a guy, I’m gonna spell it out, real clear, so there’s no room for doubt. A guy doesn’t buy a ring like that because he has lingering doubt. Only reason a guy buys a ring like _that_ is because all his boxes are checked, like _every single one._ _Nothing’s_ left open. So, _ergo_ , what can we understand from that?”

            “Thought I wasn’t supposed to talk?”

            He smirked. “The only thing—and I mean _the only thing_ —that means is that you’ve got _everything_ he wants and nothing he _doesn’t_.”

            “He just _thinks_ I do. The state his mind is in, I’m like a rebound.”

            He snorted, shaking his head and laughing.

            This got a rise, and she snapped her head around. “ _What_?!”

            He shrugged. “Nothing. That’s just so far off base it’s _actually funny_.”

            She narrowed her eyes. “You’re telling me I’m _wrong_?”

            He clapped, once, twice, three times. “Hey, folks! She catches on quick!”

            She rolled her eyes and flounced back in the chair again, glaring pointedly at the view.

            “Darce, the state his mind is in, it’s remarkable that he’s even capable of _feeling_ the way he feels about you. According to science, it’s remarkable that he’s _functioning_ at all.” He swallowed. “We all know the story. Every single inch of it, now, and that kid is so fucking strong-willed, ain’t _nothing_ he does that he isn’t sure about. Do you think he would’ve asked you if there was any doubt? I mean, God, how long did it take him to ask you out? To touch you at all, to not flinch when you touched him, to not be terrified that he’d snap and kill you in your sleep?”

            She was silent.

            “I remember Wanda following you around that morning, joking that she had to check you for all your limbs. I didn’t say anything, because contrary to popular belief, I do take some things seriously, but I thought it was incredible that he let you _in_ at all, let alone _into his bed_. But you…you spoke to some part of him, obviously, because he let you in more than he let anyone else in this Tower in, and that _includes_ Rogers.” He looked at her, hard. “You realize what that means, right? You were closer to him than _Steve_ _Rogers_. Darcy. _No_ _one_ was ever closer to Bucky Barnes than Steve Rogers. You can’t break that. You _won’t_. It’s too late. And you’re stronger _together_. _Trust_ me. Yeah, this might make you both vulnerable. But you’ve _always_ been vulnerable, from the very beginning. I know you knew that. So what if this adds to it a little? So what? A little is good, so more must be better, so you might as well, right? Yeah, sure it might make you vulnerable. But so does being _alone_. He’s _right_ , and after _everything_ he’s been through, he damn well outta be: together, you’re stronger.”

            She burrowed deeper into the chair. “Are you done, Tony?” She sounded drawn and raw.

            Penny in the air.

            He stood, unsure if he’d helped or hindered, but could sense that his time was done; or should be done. Whatever was going to happen had to run its course, no matter which way the penny dropped. “I’m just saying…you never saw the way he looked at you, kid.” He pointed at the photo hanging in the kitchen, of them in front of that dinosaur, Bucky’s soft eyes and affectionate smirk. “Like _that_. _I_ saw it. He’s _always_ looked at you like that— _always_ …He’s not supposed to be here, but history dictates that he is. _Fate_ dictates that he is. You ever wonder why?” He moved toward the door and pulled it open, pausing in the doorway. “You’ve got lightning in a bottle, kid. Don’t let it be a flash in the pan.”

 

 

            “So. Which one’s yours?”

            He jumped, the thought that he was losing his edge drifting through his mind as he looked up. A small, little old woman was sitting beside him on the bench with expectant eyes. They were big, magnified by her thick glasses—what Darcy would’ve called _retro_ —and her old, weathered face was kind.

            He looked back across the playground. “Oh. I just…sat down. It’s been a long day,” he answered awkwardly as he watched the dozen or so kids running around, playing in the late afternoon sun, yelling and giggling, screaming as they ran to and fro, and hoped she didn’t assume he was some creep.

            She nodded sagely, her blue hair swaying slightly around her face. She folded her small, wrinkled hands in her lap. “I _know_ that look. Rough one?”

            He snorted. “You could say that.” He wasn’t sure why he was opening up to a little grandma, but the way his life was going, _nothing_ really surprised him anymore. Stranger things _had_ happened and even _stranger_ ones would probably happen _tomorrow_.

            “She kick you out or did you go yourself?”

            He stared at her.

            She winked. “I’m an old crone. Like I said: _I know that look_.”

            A smirk crooked his mouth. “And which one is that?”

            She narrowed her eyes like she was reading his face. “Well. Your eyes are guarded, but your body language is defeated. Your arms are crossed over your chest, that’s defensiveness. There’s nothing aggressive about you that I can outwardly discern, but your mouth is set, so you’re still upset, your anger has dissipated—and it did so quickly, as your bark is worse than your bite—but you look grim and vulnerable.” She shrugged, looking away, her eyes following a small blonde girl darting across the playground to the swings. “Tough look to pull off. A little helpless. You’ve done all you can but you feel exposed. You slam the door pretty hard on your way out?”

            He sighed, not sure if he should feel annoyed that the woman had read him—an ex-assassin, a _ghost story_ , by all reports—like a book or if he should feel chagrinned that this little waif of a woman seemed capable of dressing him down in seconds, flat. _Bark worse than his bite. Nothing outwardly aggressive_. He wanted to giggle. “Yeah, I did,” he half groaned, instead.

            She laughed softly, her voice rasping with age. “Good. She’ll be sorting out what she wants now, then. A well-slammed door makes a girl think hard. Good job.”

            He side-eyed her with a narrow look. “Is that sarcasm, ma’am?”

            She laughed. “No, no. I’ve had plenty of doors slammed in my face, young man. Always made me think extra hard, usually more than once.” She reached out and patted his shoulder consolingly, then paused, her face changing and her brow went up. “Ooh, strong one, hm?” She smirked. “Yeah, she’ll hang onto you unless she’s got an overabundance of _stupid_. You just sit back and wait.”

            He snorted, shaking his head as he went back to watching the kids. Something about watching them playing was warm and familiar. Everything— _everything_ —had changed from the world he’d known, but it remained a constant that the children would be grouped playing in the park, totally oblivious to everything harsh going on around them. “They have no idea,” he said.

            She watched them for a moment. “No idea about what?” she suddenly asked.

            “What’s waiting for them. They have no idea.”

            She laughed softly. “Oh, so young to have such an outlook.”

            He laughed humorlessly, the idea ringing in his head that he was probably born a good, solid, _twenty years before her_ , at _least_. “What if I just _look_ young?” he asked, cryptically, giving her a mischievous look.

            She met his gaze with a twinkly eye, and laughed, louder. “Oh, dear, she’s a _fool_ if she let’s go of _that_ face. You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you? I suspect you were quite the rascal in your childhood.”

            Another bittersweet laugh bubbled up out of him. “I can’t help her if she won’t let me.”

            She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Ah. The hardest pill to swallow, isn’t it?”

            He sighed, watching a tiny boy with a blond mop go tearing off past them after another little one, dark, cropped hair and a striped t-shirt. Something awful welled up in his chest for a moment, and he had to work to swallow it back down. The blond one was so much smaller than the brunette, with a soft face and tiny hands.

            He cleared his throat against the bitter ache of homesickness.

            “So, what brought you here, then, rather than, oh, I don’t know, the bar?”

            He snorted. “Don’t drink.”

            She nodded, smiling wryly again. “A blessing and a curse.”

            He chuckled. She had no idea.

            “So…?”

            He watched the two boys talking animatedly, clearly formulating a plan, darting glances back and forth at the main part of the playground, where another small group was gathered, watching them in return. A plan of attack. His throat tightened again, but he forced it down. “No matter how long I’ve been here…this is one of the only things that feels familiar.”

            She nodded. “Mm. Some things never change, hm?”

            He watched the two boys launch their two-pronged attack on the playground, one coming up from one side, the other heading up across the bridge. They met there, just in time for one of the other group to shove at the brunette. But the blond was able to push past him and grab his friend by the hand before he fell backward, wincing as he tugged him back up onto the set.

            He raised a brow at the scene. “Bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

            She leaned over. “What was that, dear?”

            He realized he’d spoken out loud, and shook his head. “Oh…nothing.”

            “Don’t look so glum. These things have a way of working themselves out,” she said, her tone light again. “Besides, you’re quite the looker, with those pretty eyes. She won’t be able to resist.”

            He laughed, shaking his head.

            Just then, the little blond girl came running up to them. “Grandma!”

            “What is it, dear?”

            “I _fell_!” she stated, not hurt so much as irritated and full of gumption. “The swing broke!” She stomped her foot.

            “Oh, my! Are you alright, sweetie?” She turned her granddaughter around and smoothed a hand down the little girl’s back, dusting off some sand.

            “Yeah, but the swing’s broken! The metal’s all twisted!” she complained, clearly very upset.

            Grandma sighed. “Well, I’m sorry, dear. I can see if I can call the city when we get home, so someone can come take a look at it…” she offered.

            “I might be able to help,” Bucky suddenly spoke up, not even sure what he was doing _while_ he was doing it.

            They both turned to look at him.

            Grandma smiled.

            The little girl stared at him, looking shy and entranced at the same time, and Bucky was suddenly glad he’d remembered to slip on his gloves before he’d left, hiding his metal hand in his sleeve. But all she said was, “Grandma, he’s got really blue eyes.”

            Grandma smiled. “Why, yes, he does, doesn’t he? Well, go on, show him what swing it is, he won’t bite you.”

            “I don’t _think_ I’ve ever done that,” he played along, only half playing.

            Grandma laughed. “See? _Rascal_!”

            _If you only knew._

            “Go on, then, go on!” She shooed them off and the little girl grabbed at his right hand without hesitation and pulled him along, right into the throng of various, little toddlers.

            She tugged and tugged, pulling with what was clearly quite a bit of might, while he struggled not to step on any of them or make a wrong move. His left arm was heavy and he didn’t want to hurt one of them or knock one over. “ _Whoa_ , there, dollface, slow down. There’s not a fire.”

            This was all very surreal.

            Finally, they’d made it across the sea of children and she yanked him forward to the swing that was hanging crookedly on its metal chains. “See?!” she said, looking straight up at him, her neck craning.

            He took it up in his hands. Sure enough, a link in the chain had twisted, likely due to simple wear and tear. The rest of the links had pulled free and left the swing half attached, the links dragging on the ground. Simple enough to just slide it back on and press the link shut again.

            Just then, he had an odd sensation and dropped his gaze to find a small gaggle around him, all watching him intently.

            He looked at them in return. “I have an audience.”

            A little boy in the back piped up in a small voice. “What are you gonna do?!” His plaid flannel shirt was hanging crookedly off one shoulder and he was dragging his coat in his other hand. He had freckles and glasses and he struggled to the front of the pack to see. When he finally arrived, Bucky saw he was really quite short for his likely age. “How are you gonna fix it?!”

            He smirked. “Well, it just needs a little elbow grease.” He slid the links back together and very subtly slid his left hand around it, taking it up in his palm and squeezing. “See?” His arm whined softly, and he felt the link close, tight, the metal ends scraping against each other. Then he let it go, and the swing swung down into place, chain restored.

            They all gasped, staring, wide-eyed, their little mouths open in over exaggerated little oh’s.

            He smirked, their innocence tugging at his chest.

            “How’d you do that?!” the little freckle-faced kid asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

            He waggled his eyebrows. “Magic.”

            The little grandma’s girl, the one who had tugged him over, gave him a haughty look and crossed her arms over her chest, throwing out her hip in a pose that reminded him painfully of Darcy. “ _Magic_? Gimme a _break_. You grown-ups come up with the silliest answers to these questions.”

            He stared right back. “Well, aren’t _you_ precocious…?”

            She sighed, unmoved. “There’s no such _thing_ as magic.”

            He tugged on the chain, testing it, with his left arm. “Eh, I dunno, dollface. Don’t be so quick.”

            She rolled her eyes. “So you’re a grown-up and you’re telling me you believe in _magic_?” she asked, skeptically.

            He chuckled and shrugged. “Well. I’ve seen more than my fair share of weird stuff I couldn’t explain. So I dunno what’s out there, but I don’t pretend to understand what isn’t. Know what I’m sayin’?” Never mind that he could be considered _one_ of the weird things…

            She shook her head, clearly feeling impatient. “ _No_.”

            He laughed, burying his hands in his pockets as he skirted around them and out of their gaggle, back toward the bench. “Someday, you probably will.”

            They all followed him, chattering over each other and swarming him.

            “How’d you do that—for _real_?!”

            “Can you show me?!”

            “Can you teach _me_ how to do that?!”

            “What’s your name?”

            They arrived back at the bench safe and sound. Grandma smiled. “Well, Heather, I see he fixed it for you. What do you say?”

            “Thank yooou!!!” they all chorused at the same time in their little teeny voices.

            He laughed at the absurdity of it all. “It was no problem—really.”

            Quickly losing interest, they all slowly drifted off, animated again with each other and Heather skipped off to the swing and got on, walking backwards until she’d built up a good head of steam and then let the momentum take her, content.

            Grandma was staring up at him with a funny look in her eyes. “That was very kind of you.”

            He shrugged. “Eh, was nothing.”

            “But you’ve got a kind face, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

            He watched them playing for a moment. “Well. The world’s a harsh place. They should have the luxury of being innocent for as long as they can. If me fixing a link on a playground swing makes them happy, who am I to argue?”

            She smiled. “Indeed.”

            He sighed, looking up at the sky. Nearly dinner hour. He’d been out for a while now—hours, in fact. “I should probably be on my way.”

            She nodded. “Go on back to her. She’s probably coming to her senses right about now. We women can be a mercurial bunch, so maybe a little patience when you get there wouldn’t go amiss.”

            He chuckled. “Patience, I’ve got, strangely enough. Can’t do anything, she doesn’t let me in.” He shrugged and straightened his left glove. “Well. Night.”

            She smiled. “Thank you again, dear.”

            “It really was no problem, ma’am.” He began away, back up the grass toward the sidewalk.

            “I expect you’re tired of the cold, so go on home where it’s warm, _Winter Soldier_.”

            He froze. Everything in him caught. Mid-stride, the air caught in his chest, in his throat. His heart skipped.

He blinked.

Turned.

            She was staring at him, sure enough, twisted around on the bench and giving him a calm, shrewd look.

            “ _I’m sorry_?”

            She smiled, not unkindly. “Don’t play _that_ game, sonny boy.”

            He opened his mouth, then closed it.

            “Recognized you. Took me a few minutes, but your trick with the swing was a dead giveaway. You might’ve fooled the little ones, but you underestimated the distance between the swings and this bench. How’s a regular man manage a trick like that?”

            He strolled stiffly back over to her and stood awkwardly behind the bench.

            “Older than you look, I _do_ believe, if the rumors are true. Funny joke.”

            The game was up. He sighed, glancing around. “The _one_ time I don’t wear a cap…”

            But she laughed, loose and easy, no fear, no apprehension, no _nothing_. “Oh, love, you can’t hide those eyes. Besides, just ‘cause I’m an old bat doesn’t mean I don’t know my computer, and I know how to hunt through my news like a Baby Boomer. Some of the footage from that data dump saw eyes before it got sucked back up by the government machine.”

            The most adrift he thought he could ever feel in his entire life—which was _really_ saying something—all he could do was stand there and stare at her.

            She gave him a cheeky look, then darted a glance around. “Could I…?” She gestured toward his left arm.

            He swallowed, hesitated, then stepped closer toward her, figuring at this point, he had nothing to lose. When she didn’t bolt at his nearness, he loosened the wrist strap on his glove and pulled the leather off, letting the late afternoon sun wink off the steel. Stark was right, it was probably at least partial vibranium. Only way he could go up against Steve’s shield without damage.

            She stared at it, then reached out and touched her fingers lightly to his. “My, my. The things they get up to these days.” She looked up at him. “Can you _feel_ it?”

            He shrugged. “Works like any other arm.”

            “Except _more_ , right?”

            Another shrug; he was vaguely uncomfortable with this, but it was, frankly, lost in the general uncomfortable- _ness_ of his whole day, so _whatever_. “Works like any other machine, really.” He closed his fist and opened it, turning his arm over so she could hear the mechanics whir and hum.

            She gasped. “Oh, my! How _fascinating_!”

            He cleared his throat.

            She looked up, obviously hearing a hint there. “I’m sorry, dear. You’re not a sideshow.” She patted his arm and he slid the glove back on with a nod. But she continued to stare up at him with that odd gaze. “I grew up with the stories of you and Steve Rogers. How’s he doing?”

            _God_ , how had all this gotten _out_ , SHIELD data dump or _not_?!

            He shrugged. “Seemed fine when I saw him this morning.” And he winked.

            She smiled. “Ah. The two of you. Saved the world, you and your band of merry marauders.”

            He shrugged and shook his head. “No, ma’am, that wasn’t me. That was Stevie.”

            But she was already shaking her head. “ _No_. That was _all_ of you, Mr. Barnes. You might’ve been… _sleeping_ , but I was there, after the War. I saw what you did, what you sacrificed, what you’ve done.”

            _What you’ve done_. He took a step back. “Ma’am—”

            “ _Forgive_ _yourself_ , dear.”

            Again, he froze, staring at her, feeling the blood drain from his face.

            But she didn’t flinch. “You said it yourself: _the world is a harsh place_. But you’ve come out on the other side with yourself _intact_. So don’t waste it carrying around what you don’t need.”

            He swallowed, but couldn’t look away from her face.

            She smiled gingerly, like she knew he was fracturing into tiny pieces where he stood. “The _Winter Soldier_ just fixed part of a _children’s_ _playground_. You can add that to the list of things he’s _done_. And then you can just…cross off everything else. Because he didn’t really _do_ them. _Did he_?”

            He swallowed again, determined to keep it in check, in a death grip.

            She sighed. “I promised myself that day, when I stumbled across that empty-eyed picture of you, that if I ever came across you, I’d remind you that you still share a trait with all of us that you’ve likely stumbled over remembering.”

            He frowned, cocking his head.

            “You’re _human_. And _nothing_ more.” Her eyes dipped to his cybernetic arm. “That’s all.”

            And he just stood there, completely unable to react, or move, or breathe, or _anything_.

            But she only smiled again, and rose to meet him, smoothing down the left sleeve of his jacket and tugging the wrist strap on his glove taut. “Now, go home. It’s cold out here, and I suspect you’re rather tired of freezing temperatures.”

            When he still stood there, she gently shoved him. “ _Go on_ , Soldier. Go on home.”

            Finally, the link between his brain and his legs began to flicker and he got his gait back under him, and she stood there, watching as he finally went on his way, glancing back all the way up the shallow hill and to the sidewalk, still bustling with small groups of people.

            “Oh, and Soldier!” she called.

            He turned.

            She smiled. “Thank you for your service!”

            Blinking against his stinging eyes, he nodded, and left.

 


	12. Timed Personal Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an ending is had--and a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay, guys. That really got away on me. I don't want you guys to think I forgot about this or anything. We all know how life is--TOTALLY INSANE. I've been meaning to upload this for weeks. Literally. It's been finished for a while and the time for uploading it just was not coming. So I'm squeezing it in here. 
> 
> This is it, guys. The end. I hope I did it justice for you all. I really, really love these two, you have no idea. And I'm not really feeling ready to be done with it, and I've been toying with the idea for a sequel for a while. I'm still waiting for something to click. I feel like I'm halfway there.
> 
> Anyhoo. Let me know how you like this. Also! Let me know if you'd be interested in further reading. If enough people are really that into it, I'll really put in the brain effort of concocting another one, because I wasn't joking--I really love these two.
> 
> Another also! If you've got an idea, shoot me a line. If you have a one-shot you'd like to see with my head-canon gang, shoot me another line. Just try to keep it in the canon I've built here. Baby one-shots are super adorable, but I don't feel like that would be appropriate for these two--at least, not their own baby. If you want me to work one in some other way--well. You get the point. I'd be open to one-shots if there's interest. So long as it doesn't take time from anything else. 
> 
> So. See ya later, guys--at least for now, I think. Seriously--let me know how you like and if you'd like more. :)
> 
> Love y'all. And I thank you for every kind, wonderful, hilarious review and comment! You're awesome!

Three blocks later, his Starkphone went off in his pocket and he pulled it out, swiping reluctantly over Darcy’s smiling face. “Hello.”

            There was a long moment of silence. “Where are you?” she asked, sounding raw and kicked.

            “Halfway to Brooklyn, I think,” he said, sarcasm unavoidable as his defenses went up. It struck him belatedly that he’d never felt his internal defenses go up in response to her, but it was knee-jerk. “Looks too goddamn different now, hell if _I_ know where Brooklyn went in all this mess.”

            He thought he could hear her swallowing and hesitating, and when she spoke, she sounded half dead, and he couldn’t stand it. “You come home?”

            He took a deep breath. “You want me to?”

            She tried for humor, but it was too weak. “Well, technically, it’s _your_ apartme—”

            “No, it’s not,” he cut her off. “It’s our _home_.”

            But she didn’t reply, and the line was silent between them for almost a full minute. Finally, “…I’ll be here.”

            And she hung up.

            Unsure what the hell he was supposed to make out of that, he worked his way back, weaving in and out of the ever-bustling crowd, the streets still so much bigger and noisier and just…more…than he thought he’d ever get used to.

            He’d thought it was a busy place when they were kids, sure, but _now_ …God, no kidding, the _City that Never Sleeps_. He had absolutely no idea how anyone who didn’t live in a high-high-rise like theirs _ever_ slept, being closer to the noisy street, especially in the summer, when windows would be open.

            But the Tower loomed soon enough and he slid deftly inside, ignoring the curious glances of people on the street.

            “ _Welcome Back, Mr. Barnes_ ,” JARVIS greeted him.

            He waved a hand and slipped into the elevator.

            “ _Home, Sir_?” he was prompted.

            He took another breath. “Might as well, J. Got nothing to lose.” Literally.

            He didn’t see a soul in the halls, for which he was extremely grateful. He stopped outside his door— _their_ door—and stared at it for a long time, not quite sure what he was walking into. But he’d never backed down before. So he wrapped his hand around the doorknob, took a beat, and went in, quietly shutting the door behind him.

            She didn’t turn as he came in, but he saw her reflection watching his in the window.

            It was silent, unnervingly so. Usually, there was always something on in the background, an LP, the TV, a movie. But it was so quiet it was sterile.

            She was curled in a small shape in the armchair there, in front of the huge windows, the table in front of her empty of her usual book or laptop, glass of wine… “Where’d you go?” she asked, her voice small and weak.

            He hung his coat and slung it over the back of one of the barstools at the kitchen island and went to lean a hip on the back of the couch. “Walking. Sat in the park for a while, watched the kids playing.” He left out that creepy, strange, wonderful conversation he’d had with the woman in the glasses. She’d seen right through him, like he _was_ a ghost.

            She nodded, still not turning.

            Another long moment of silence stretched.

            “…Do you want me to go?” she murmured, her voice cracking. “I can…take Steve and Nat’s place, upstairs…I guess.”

            He sighed, frustration welling again as the stiffness in his body took leave. “Of _course_ I don’t want you to go, Darce. That’s the _last_ thing I want.”

            She swallowed audibly. “I said _awful_ things,” she whispered.

            He pulled a hand through his hair and began tugging his gloves off. “You didn’t really say much of anything.”

            “Well, then, I guess I didn’t really need to.”

            “Besides, if there’s anything you outta know about me by now, it’s that I’ve got a thick hide.” He smirked. “Even falling off a train didn’t kill me.”

            “I broke my one rule,” she whispered, sounding like she was barely keeping it together.

            He sighed again, tossing his gloves down on the couch. “What rule is that?”

            “To not treat you like everyone else treats you. You’ve always been open and honest with me about what’s going on in your head and I went and took advantage of that and thought I knew better. That was _awful_ , and it was something I _swore_ I’d never do to you.”

            He shrugged. “So you got a little insecure. That’s not a crime, Darce.”

            “For a _stupid_ reason,” she said, her voice finally gaining traction.

            He crossed his arms over his chest. “It wasn’t a stupid reason. It was an _unnecessary_ reason, but not a stupid one.”

            She finally pulled herself to her feet, wincing. “Why aren’t you _angry_ at me?!”

            For a long moment, he stared at her. She looked exhausted and depleted and the circles under her eyes had only gotten darker, now an awful shade of violet that made him nervous. But he shrugged. “I think, for the most part, I’m out of anger.”

            She pulled a face. “ _How_?”

            He shrugged.

            “ _Everything_ they _did_ to you…I’d be so… _furious_ and _bitter_.”

            He cocked his head and looked at her. “That would be giving them power, though, wouldn’t it? And they already have enough of that, don’t you think?”

            She bit her lip. “I was such a _bitch_.”

            “I _hate_ that word. You had a moment of doubt. We all have them. It’s not. A crime,” he repeated.

            “ _That’s not an excuse_!” she said, her voice rising in pitch.

            He sighed and pulled a hand through his hair again. “Darcy, we had a fight. It’s over. Stop beating yourself up; you’ve already taken care of that.”

            “So worried about _worrying_ about you that I made it worse.”

            He made no effort to hide his eye roll. “Darcy, for Christ’s sake…”

            “I don’t understand how you’re not pissed off at me—”

            “It was _one_ _fight_ , Darcy!”

            She sighed. “Still.”

            “We’re gonna have more.”

            She stopped and stared at him, then, biting her lip again. “Are we?”

            He gave her a flat look. “You think one fight ends everything?” He gestured between them. “All… _this_?”

            She sat down on the arm of the chair. “It did for my parents.” She shrugged. “Or, rather, when I was just a kid, it _felt_ that way. Obviously, it wasn’t just one fight.” She looked down at her hands, pressed together in her lap. “I dunno…”

            He sighed. “The Winter Soldier’s no liar. When you asked if I wanted you to go, I said no, didn’t I?”

            She shook her head. “Not sure why—”

            “ _Because I love you_!” he shouted. “ _Obviously_. You’re making the part _after_ the blow-out where we’re supposed to be making up into _another_ fight.” He blinked. “That’s gotta be some kinda super power…”

            “Buck—”

            He took a step toward her. “What happened to ‘Jamie’? I like that better.”

            She stared at him.

            He took another step. “I love you. I’ve _always_ loved you. I didn’t think I could do that anymore, but I do. That’s not gonna change. You’ve always been… _everything_. Everything I needed and a few things that I didn’t realize I did.” He took another step. “I asked you to marry me _because of that_ , and that was _it_. Because you take me for _what I am_. Because you did it _so_ easily, and without asking for _anything_ from me in return, without asking for anything _I couldn’t give_. Because you have faith in me, when no else does, you had it when no one else did. You’re okay with me being… _half_ a person sometimes, and _two people_ at others, and barely knowing if even _I_ understand the difference. And you don’t differentiate and you don’t judge and you don’t try to decipher. You just…you just _love_ me. And I don’t really get it, but I won’t question a good thing when it falls in my lap.” He snorted. “I’m _old_. And a little battered. And I can’t afford to do that anymore.”

She was so bloody pale.

He looked down at his hands, swallowing thickly, his voice low and rough. “You…you straightened me out, single-handedly. You were what I needed, _when_ I needed it. And you were stubborn and patient, and sweet. And warm…and you’re good with the snuggling, and you _insisted_ on the sex, even when I was too nervous that I’d snap and hurt you. And…” He sighed, pulling a hand through his hair and switching his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t want you to constantly be looking over your shoulder. It gets _exhausting_ after a while— _trust_ me. If they come, then they come, and we’ll deal with it— _together_. I’ve _never_ run from a fight. Usually, I’m running _toward_ them.” He gestured at her ring, back on her hand, where she was nervously twisting it on her finger. “I just need you to…I just need you to let go of _my_ issues—they’re _my_ issues, not _yours_ , and they should never weigh _you_ down. _I_ deal with them, and I don’t want _you_ dealing with them too. And if you’re here, with me…they’ll fade. In time.”

            She was staring at him, her eyes glassy.

            “There aren’t any strings, and there aren’t any expectations other than that you… _love me back_. That’s it. That’s _all_ I’ve ever wanted. We don’t even have to _define_ it, because I’m not sure words _can_. Am I making _any_ sense?”

            Her hands were trembling, and she was biting on her lip so hard he was thinking she’d draw blood, and a tear leaked down her cheek. But she nodded.

            He took another few steps, and paused. “ _Nothing_ needs to change. But you take care of me. You took care of me when I needed it the most. So I need you to let _me_ take care of _you_. That’s how it works, love. I’ve taken a lot…but I’m tough. I can take more, and I’m not scared of them. Okay? It’s _my_ choice. And I’ll make it. For you, I’ll…I’ll do anything, without thinking twice. That’s love.”

            She nodded.

            “I’m not your mother. I’m not walking out. And I sure as _hell_ ain’t your asshole father, either—for one thing, I look _terrible_ in a suit.” He gave her a crooked grin, hopeful.

            She took a breath. “You look _spectacular_ in a suit,” she argued. “I have a picture of you that I snuck at Tony and Pepper’s wedding when you weren’t looking, so I have proof.”

            He snorted, rolling his eyes, but dipped her into his arms, bridal style, and carried her to the couch, laying her down. “Of _course_ you do. Let me look at this gash.”

            “It’s already gone.”

            He tugged on her collar and sure enough—just a pink scratch. Incredible. He ran the pads of his fingers gently over it and she shivered.

            She nodded shyly. “Hey.”

            “Hey, what?”

            “I was wondering…would you mind…if we… _didn’t_ have the whole team there?”

            He frowned, confused. “Where?”

            She twisted her ring around in his line of sight. “When we do this?”

            Not missing a beat, he shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter to me. Steve’ll be pissed, but it’s not like we went with them to the courthouse.”

            She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t wanna do that.”

            “Agreed.”

            “So…”

            “So what were you thinking?”

            She sighed. “Just…Tony and Pepper. Maybe?”

            “You _sure_ you don’t wanna call your dad?”

            She shook her head. “He’s busy with Siobhan. He won’t care.”

            He scowled at the mention of her father’s mid-life crisis second wife, just about Darcy’s age. “Well. Then I guess that was my only question.”

            Her face opened up. “You’re okay with that?”

            He shuddered a little. “You know how I am in front of a crowd, Darce. I’m not even good at the Tower Christmas party.” He slung his arm around her, tucking his elbow and propping his head.

            She laughed, her fingers still running lazily across his face. “You’d probably be fine if you could drink. But you’re _straight-edge_.”

            “Even if I wanted to, I likely wouldn’t be affected by it anymore now. I metabolize as fast as Steve.”

            She opened her mouth—

“And there’s no way I’m touching Thor’s booze, so you can ditch that cheeky look. I _know_ that look,” he cut her off, poking her in the chest with a metal finger. “ _No_. _Way_. My days of getting drunk and stumbling through the barracks are _long_ _over_.”

She made a face. “Aw, but I’ll bet you’re a fun drunk.”

He arched a brow. “I was a _messy_ drunk. You don’t wanna see that.”

She sighed. “No dancing on the bar for me, huh?”

He snorted. “Nope. But if _you_ want to, you go right ahead, and I won’t stop you, long as you don’t mind being spotted while I enjoy the show.” He winked.

“You wouldn’t be _spotting_ me, you’d be looking up my mini skirt,” she teased, poking him on the nose.

He chuckled. “Now why would I do that when I can just take you home and peel it off you entirely?”

The make-up sex was killer.

 

 

A few weeks later was a very awkward conversation in a Tower hallway quite late at night.

“What are you doing up so late, Short Stack? Your fella know you’re missing?” Tony snarked as they crossed in the hall.

Darcy frowned at him. “He’s out cold. This time _I_ couldn’t sleep.”

Tony turned and leaned against the wall. “Not cold feet?”

She shook her head. “No, no. It’s…”

He waved a hand. “Told you, the place is already booked. They want a head count, though, just so they know where they’re gonna put everyone.”

She swept her hair off her shoulder. “That’s…that’s the thing.”

An eyebrow went up. “ _What’s_ the thing, kiddo?”

She looked away, up the hallway, then back down. “I don’t… _have_ a head count. Really.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean there _is_ no head count.”

He blinked at her.

She sighed. “We talked. Again. I—we—both of us…” She huffed. “That is…we just want a couple people there, not the whole… _peanut gallery_.” Because that was exactly what they all were.

The other eyebrow followed its companion. “Steve and Nat.” He nodded.

“No. You and Pepper.”

His head jerked back and he stared at her, clearly a little thrown, blinking at her in surprise. “ _Me and Pep_?”

She nodded. “You guys have done _so_ much for us—for _me_ —and you were the first ones that came to mind, and Steve and Nat would want everyone else to come, and then it would be awkward, and it’s not like the two of _them_ threw a party, I mean they disappeared for a week and came back with rings, and Thor and Jane are all over each other, so nothing would get done right, and Clint’s got the kids and Bruce steers clear of anything with more than one person in the room, and I _totally_ get that, but—”

“Sure, kid. Be honored,” he cut off her nervous rambling, his eyes going soft.

She nodded, clearing her throat uncomfortably. “And I was thinking I would just come down the main staircase, I mean, I don’t want a bunch of fanfare and all that crap, and…” She drifted off, finally looking him in the eye.

“ _And_?” he prompted.

“Well, I…see, I need someone to fill the position next to me…on the stairs, that is.”

For a moment, he stared, Tony Stark, Genius, Billionaire, Former-Playboy, Now-More-Philanthropist, _utterly Confused_. “Wait, you want _me_ to…walk you down…?” He didn’t finish.

She shuffled her feet, folding her hair nervously behind an ear. “You don’t have to if it’s weird, I mean you’re _Tony Stark_ and this isn’t even your shindig, and—”

But he grabbed her and pulled her into one of the tightest hugs of her life, cutting off her rambling again. His hand settled between her shoulder blades and his other cupped the back of her neck. “Sure, Short Stack. Yeah. I’ll do it. Consider the position filled.”

If she didn’t know better, she thought he sounded a little weepy.

Bucky was still asleep when she slid back into bed, but his arm snaked around her anyway, and he tugged her close. “How’d it go?” he murmured.

She jumped. “Thought you were asleep.”

“ _Was_ until about ten minutes ago, when the bed went cold, and I realized you were probably out pacing the halls again. For a laid-back girl you sure get nervous about certain things. He say yes?”

She curled against his front, and began tracing patters across a pectoral muscle. “How’d you know…?”

He didn’t even open his eyes. “Seriously?”

She sighed. “You can be such a jerk.”

He opened his eyes and finally looked at her. “Eh, you love it.”

She let her hand travel southward. “Mm-hmm…”

He jerked, and his body went taut as her fingers found purchase beneath his boxers, and he buried his face in her neck, leaning into her.

She laughed lightly. “Is it too early for morning sex?”

The room was pitch dark. It was after two.

His hand came down around her wrist and pulled her grip off him. His other shackled her other wrist and then she was on her back, her arms pinned on either side of her head, and she was trapped under him. “ _Never_ ,” he whispered, playfulness in his tone, and he tugged her sleeping tee up and began pressing maddening little kisses down her front, releasing her wrists.

She buried her fingers in his hair, tugging.

He gave a satisfied grunt as she yanked and earned a little tap to her hip.

She laughed. “He likes having his hair pulled, I’ll have to make a note…” she murmured, already breathless.

“Mm,” was his only comment. His mouth skirted under one breast, then trailed softly across her ribs, moving southward, his hair tickling gently along in his wake.

She squirmed.

He made a little noise of victory as his mouth found the softening scar on her belly, and he explored it with his lips, the little tiny marks where the clamps had been, the raised line where Bruce had cut her open, the small oval where the pike had slid through her like butter.

She lay still, enjoying the sensation. “Feels nice, even though I can’t really _feel_ it,” she sighed.

“Mm, nerve damage. That’ll probably heal for you—give it time. Can’t feel the giant one on my back that you seem to like either,” he said.

“You can’t?”

A half shrug. “Not real well, no. Was deep, probably.” Without further ado, he tugged on her pajama bottoms and pulled them off.

She sighed again, carefully pulling the t-shirt off and tossing it aside.

He wrapped his arms around her and moved back up her body, his mouth pressing soft, chaste kisses up her throat and to her jaw, stopping at the corner of her lips. “You sure you wanna do this?” he murmured.

She brushed his hair back. “What—you thought I wanted to be a good girl until the wedding? You’re an idiot.”

He grinned and kissed her, a nice, deep kiss, his tongue tracing the line of her top teeth, and his fingers slid down, beneath the waistband of her underwear, and into her.

She jerked, giving a soft little mewl against his mouth.

He moved away again, trailing down her throat in search of her little trigger pulse, the pad of his middle finger finding another trigger and stroking along it.

She whined in a way that should’ve embarrassed her, but didn’t. “Don’t tease.”

He gave a sexy, throaty laugh as his mouth closed around her pulse and sucked, his finger increasing pressure. He added another.

She bucked her hips against him, snapping. “God, I hate you,” she rasped, her voice thin and plaintive.

But it got her nothing.

She dug her fingers into his shoulders; or rather, _one_ hand did. The other found purchase against a shoulder blade, scrabbling along the metal of his left side until she found flesh.

The orgasm was strong and lasted forever, she could swear, and she gave a soft, agonized cry against his neck, her body tighter than she’d thought it was really capable of as she let it roll over her and crash against her heart, setting it pounding, hard as the pressure unspooled.

Finally, he released her, nipping a little along her throat and soothing it with his tongue until he’d reached her mouth again. She felt him smiling against her lips. “Mm, there. Better now?”

She slapped lightly at his shoulder. “Tease.”

“I did no such thing; did I not finish?”

She sighed as she caught her breath. “Ooh, yeah…”

He grinned. “The definition of teasing doesn’t include follow-through. At least, as far as I can _remember_ …”

“Don’t be smug; I hate smug,” she chastised him.

“No, you don’t.”

She growled, reaching up to knock him gently back, and he left to slowly drag her panties down and off. “No, I don’t.”

When he came back, she tugged at his boxers until they disappeared as well.

“Absolutely sure you wanna do this?” he asked again.

She giggled. “Would you _stop_? I might _combust_.”

He smiled that crinkly-eyed smile that she loved, a deep moan rumbling out of his chest as he finally sank into her and she wrapped a leg tenderly around his thigh, her hands pressing, kneading into his back.

She sighed in satisfaction. “Oh, God, _finally_.”

He paused to let her adjust. “Okay?”

Her throat already dry, she nodded. “ _Better_ than okay.”

There was absolutely no rush, not much build-up at all, and they came together slowly and tenderly, moving together with unhurried passion.

He somehow managed to find every trigger in his lazy claiming of her body, and she sighed and moved against him as her hands traced the scars along his back. He guided her through two more climaxes before finding his own, his face pressed tenderly against her throat.

 

 

“Oh, my God!! Oh. My. God,” Pepper breathed, her thin voice near squealing level in Darcy’s ear. “Wait until you see!”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “God, Pepper, relax. I _wasn’t_ nervous, but you’re actually _making_ me nervous. Seriously.”

She sighed as she worked the very last pearl button. “Sorry.”

She stared out the second story window at the view of the woods beyond, the giant weeping willow standing sentinel over the back deck and the duck pond, and the bench where he’d been sitting in the remains of his tux only a year past.

“I just can’t believe we’re back here. It’s only been a year, and this is so romantic and intimate—and I’m glad you didn’t invite everyone else. Considering there are only a handful of them, they sure make it a circus.”

Darcy smirked. “Well, hopefully Wanda’s temper has calmed down by the time we get back.” She reached up to check the pins in her hair, holding it up in a the messy bun she’d tucked it into an hour ago, leaving a few strands loose. “I think she was thinking about putting some awful thought in my head as we left.”

Pepper patted her shoulder and smoothed the white material of her dress. “Well, it’s _your_ wedding, like it or not.” She paused, and her next words practically hovered in the air. “Are you ready for this?”

Darcy sighed. “Yeah. Didn’t think I’d be here, last year, but I am.”

Pepper laughed. “God, I was _so_ nervous with Tony. I think I might’ve been standing right there, actually. Do you remember?”

She nodded. “You were. And you _were_. Absolutely shaking, you were so nervous. Didn’t really understand why.”

“I don’t know.” The red head was still lost somewhere behind Darcy, smoothing here, tucking there, refusing to let her turn around. “I guess it had been so long, with Tony, that it felt surreal to finally get there. But you seem fine.”

Darcy shrugged. “It’s been a hard few months. Guess I’m over it, you know?”

“Well. You’re so well-matched, it’s the _sweetest_ thing. You’re sure you don’t want me to at least call the gang for a little reception after? Tonight, after you’ve had a chance to relax and be alone?”

Darcy shook her head, emphatically. “Absolutely not. No crowd, no rambunctious crap. Just dinner with you and Boss Man, some cocktails, then bed.”

Pepper laughed. “I’ll try and keep Tony from giving you a hard time, speaking of _bed_ …”

Darcy shrugged. “Something tells me he won’t.” She darted a glance over at the small Victoria’s Secret bag she’d stashed out of Pepper’s line of sight. Nothing special, nothing ultra modern, something more traditional, just a little…something. She had a feeling he’d like lace.

“But no first dance, or anything?” she half-whined.

“No. I’ve got something set up in here. _Quiet_. That’s the key this weekend. Quiet.”

She glanced in the other direction, to the small, portable stereo she’d brought along, the turn-table all set up, and Kitty Kallen all ready to go.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s been a loud, stressful few weeks— _months_ , really,” Pepper agreed. “Good. I’m glad. It was…pretty scary for a little while, there. Tony was falling to pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever really seen him like that before. He, um…he really loves you. You know that, right?”             She swallowed, looking away, and nodded. “Yeah. I know. I love him, too.”

“I was a little surprised, actually. James, he _always_ surprises me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, after everything he’s been through, I keep expecting different reactions out of him, but…well, I came around the hallway in the corner that evening, and Tony was passed out, but instead of pacing and raging and all that…James, he was just sitting there, like a _statue_. Tense and focused, but he was drifting, I could tell, he was totally lost. His eyes were sunken, and I could tell he needed…something. Frankly, when I sat down next to him and took his hand, I was surprised he let me that near at all. But for some reason he did.”

Darcy bit her lip at the image that conjured. “You and Tony…you’ve done a lot. For him. For me. He feels like he owes him something, just for letting him…be free.”

“Well, when your friend is Captain America and you’ve got connections to the President of the United States, a criminal pardon is pretty easy to work out. Tony would _never_ have gone against that.”

“What about Howard and Maria?” she asked, her voice soft.

Pepper sighed. “At first, he was angry, yeah, once all that intel hit the internet, but…”

“ _But_?”

“I dunno, I guess you should’ve seen his face after Steve brought him back and had him in holding.”

“What do you mean?” She was starting to fidget, and wanting to turn around already, but Pepper kept preening at her hairdo.

“He was all set to rip his claws into him, and I told him to be patient, but he left, he went down to meet up with Steve, and…I dunno, when he came back upstairs, he had the most awful look on his face, Darcy. And he looked at me, and he said, ‘I can’t do it, Pep. I’m not a monster.’ And I asked what had changed, _even though I was relieved_ , and he said, ‘You should see him. The kid’s an empty shell.’”

A lump was growing in her throat, but Darcy pushed back down at it, determined to keep this light.

“And, I don’t know. Tony decided he wanted to help him out, instead, and…here we are, I guess. You and Tony, you pulled him out of the wreckage, I guess. And Steve. Can’t forget Steve, of course.”

“Of course, yeah,” Darcy whispered.

“But that’s over,” Pepper suddenly piped up. “Today’s a _happy_ day. All the bad is behind us, at least _for now_ , knowing this ragtag group of ours.”

Darcy snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Pep, I’m a _firm_ believer in the jinx.”

“Right, sorry. Turn around.”

She did, and looked straight at herself in the full-length mirror.

She’d finally ordered the dress she’d had her eye on, and it looked even better on her than she ever could’ve hoped for. The lace was soft on her collar and arms, and it disappeared beneath the satin of the sweetheart neckline. The bodice had pearl buttons up the back, and was snug around her waist and hips, trailing down past her knees in a bit of a mermaid’s tail design. She smiled. “Perfect.”

“That’s the dress, hm?” Pepper gushed over her shoulder in the reflection.

She nodded. “Yep. That’s it, alright.”

“You sure you don’t want the heels?”

She shook her head. “Don’t want to overdo it. Just the white flats will be fine.”

“Got it.”

She rifled around in the corner and came back with the white ballet flats she’d found. Perfect, as well.

There was a soft knock on the door. “I’m supposed to ask if, and I quote, ‘Dollface is all set’?” Tony’s voice drifted through the door.

Pepper popped back up. “Right. Set change.” She leaned in and gave Darcy a one-armed hug and kissed her cheek lightly. “I’ll get everything set downstairs. You’ve got _five_ minutes, okay? See you out there!”

“Right.”

Pepper opened the door, smoothed a hand down Tony’s jacket shoulder, kissed him on the cheek and traded places with him.

Tony was awkward as he shut the door behind him, his eyes glued to Darcy. “Wow, Short Stack, you clean up nice.” He winked. “Got something I’m supposed to hand off from Judy downstairs. She said the truck just left and the woman was awfully confused why she was only delivering this small thing. So, apparently, you’re the only girl on the face of the earth who doesn’t have lavish tastes.” He held out the small bouquet in his hand.

Three white calla lilies, bound with a loop of sprig, with a pretty little bow in the front.

“Ah. Perfect. That’s just what I wanted,” Darcy approved, taking it from him.

Tony smiled. “Good. _Really_ , Darce, you look _spectacular_ , million bucks.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Boss Man. How’s my fella holdin’ up?”

He waved a hand, scoffing as he rolled his eyes. “Eh, totally relaxed, he’s all mellow. Think Pep and I are more nervous than the two of you.”

As if in response to this comment, there was a soft patter out in the hall as Pepper hurried by. “ _No peeking_ , rule number one!” she teased as she passed.

“God, Pepper, would you relax? You’re worse than Stevie in a bar full a’ dames,” Bucky chastised lightly as he followed her down the hall.

Darcy laughed. “Thanks, by the way, for agreeing to do this,” she said.

Tony shrugged, trying for casual, but she’d learned his body language well over the past few months, working more closely with him. She could see the lines in his face were nerves; she could see that certain soft shade in his eyes denoting affection and tenderness. He took a step closer to her. “Eh. Anything for you, Short Stack,” he murmured, lifting a hand to fold a strand of her hair gently behind her ear. “And I got something for you.”

She blinked. “You already gave me the—”

“Something else.” He shook his head as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small box. “Here.” He held it out, looking uncomfortable.

Confused, she took it from his hand and pulled off the lid to reveal a delicate pearl bracelet, a fine sterling chain wrapping around each bead in a tiny strand that would match her earrings perfectly. She gasped. “Tony…”

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. But he managed to meet her eyes. “Was mom’s. Freshwater pearls.”

She gaped at him unbecomingly. “Tony! No, I—”

“I want you to have it. I wanted you to…have something from me, something of…hers.”

Her heart squeezed, and she bit her lip, trying not to tear up and beginning to fail miserably, when he took a step forward and took it from her hands. “Don’t cry, Short Stack! Rules.” Smirking, he secured the clasp around her wrist and squeezed her shoulders, flashing her a soft smile. “You ready to do this?”

She nodded, swallowing and managing to finally gather herself. “Let’s go.”

He opened the door for her and followed her out. She went down the hall and counted the row of carpeted stairs they would have to maneuver. Thankfully, there would be no music to be distracted by, just a priest and a nervously bouncing Pepper.

Tony arrived beside her, smoothing a hand awkwardly down his tie. He sighed out a long breath.

“ _Relax_ , Boss Man. It’s just the four of us. No cheesy music, a couple of stairs. No sweat.”

He looked at her, his eyes twinkly and sweet. “You _sure_ you’re ready to do this?”

She let out what might’ve been a giggle. “ _You’re_ asking _me_? You look like you’re ready to hurl. It’s just a few yards!” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

His hand swept up her back, warm and supportive. “I gotcha, kid.”

She tugged him back into place and looped her arm through his elbow. “C’mon. Let’s do this.”

 

_FIN_

 

           

 

           

  


           

 

 

 

 

 


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